After Life
by Zoe-eoZ
Summary: When evil aliens teleport Lincoln and Hive away a split second before the explosion of their jet, they will have to learn to trust each other to escape their new prison. Will they survive? - A Lincoln and Ward (and Fitz) bromance fic; another take on a Ward redemption arc, StaticQuake, also Skyeward moments. And some FitzSimmons.
1. This is not the end

_This is a funny little story. Its tone is much different than I intended, but we'll just roll with that for now. It's Ward and Lincoln centric, and eventually Fitz. Chapter 8 marks a bit of an end, while chapter 9 propels the story forward again, where to, if anywhere, we shall see._

 _It might just be this story and my writing, or the focus on the not too popular Lincoln and StaticQuake, or maybe that Ward is in this yet again, or because I'm new to writing for this fandom, but reviews are sparse so I have no idea whether anyone even cares about this. But since it exists, I might as well put it out there for someone else who might stumble upon this and has a soft spot for weird bromances._

 _This, then, is for you!_

 _If you happen to read this, I'd love to hear your thoughts. And:_ _Thanks for giving this a chance._

* * *

...

* * *

 **After Life**

* * *

...

* * *

 _..._

 _Lincoln: Well, I got to see the world._

 _Hive: It's beautiful. Smaller than you imagine._

 _Lincoln: Yeah._

 _Hive: I only wanted to make it better._

 _Lincoln: I know._

 _Hive: To feel a connection. But you must feel that already… to sacrifice for them… with all their flaws._

 _Lincoln: They're only human._

 _..._

 _[_ Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 3. Episode 22 _]_

* * *

…

* * *

…

"They're only human…"

The words drift out of him like the last breaths he's taking, a little wistful, a little melancholic, and it's a strange feeling, dying, knowing that he's here with Hive, and realizing that he doesn't hate his fellow Inhuman. Or, not anymore.

They both look on, their thoughts going a mile a minute before slowing down again, zoning in on just a few faces, feelings.

Daisy.

Skye.

So this was his purpose then. He, too, was meant to save her, to save humanity. In the end, he will save more lives than he could have ever saved as a doctor, and he chuckles briefly at the thought, stopped only by the icy-hot pain in his side.

He's dying, the question now is just whether he will still feel the explosion tearing him apart, or not. And will there be a real "Afterlife," after death? He feels strangely at peace, he told Daisy he loves her, he saved the day, he…

...

Lincoln's unconscious, almost dead body drifts on for another few seconds, toward Hive, or Ward, or Will, or whoever he now is, and for some odd reason Hive/Ward/Will finally feels a real connection to someone, to this kid, _now_ , when facing certain death. He chuckles briefly at the irony as the body floats so close to him that he can reach out and pull it close. He is not sure why he is doing it, but he keeps holding on to Lincoln Campbell with a desperate fierceness, both of them not alone now, and it gives him peace.

He is in awe at the other one's devotion to a race not his own anymore, and more so, at the kid's forgiving tone. There was no hostility between them in these last moments, just acceptance, and finally, finally his own anger and emptiness just float away, too, out of him, away.

* * *

...

The explosion happens without a sound - they are in space after all - and they don't feel anything anymore, don't see anything anymore.

...

But Daisy, Daisy down below is devastated, like someone pulled the floor out from underneath her feet and she is falling falling falling…

He never had a chance. She never had a chance. They didn't have one. Now Lincoln is gone. Ward is gone, too, and that at least should feel good, but it doesn't. It doesn't.

It's all a gaping wound and it hurts so much. So much, and she can't…

... breathe.

* * *

…

* * *

...

There's a beam coming down, invisible to the human eye, as the two bodies get extricated right before it is too late and they would have been blown to smithereens.

It's not the Chitauri, or the Kree, or anyone they know for that matter. But while space is quiet, it's not empty, and there are things to be learned and things to be detected.

They studied him, Hive. Wanted to see how he takes on the humans and destroys them, or ensnares them. They were impressed mostly, but then something went wrong.

Now they get to study both him and one of the ones who defeated him. They'll get to figure both of them out, and when the time comes, they won't make the same mistakes.

They'll be better. They'll be the ones conquering this lush planet for themselves, and one thing is sure: they won't need to enslave all of humanity. It's better to get rid of most of them, maybe hold onto the few advanced ones, as laborers. That should suffice.

* * *

…

As life goes on down on earth, as Daisy fights her demons, as Coulson gives up and gains back responsibilities, as S.H.I.E.L.D. emerges back out of the shadows, Grant Ward wakes up in a too bright cubicle or cell or… He really isn't sure what it is, all he knows is that his eyes hurt so bad that he can barely see, and when they finally adjust a bit, he notices that he is strapped to a gurney, fluorescent lights above him, his body naked and too cold. Way too cold.

He tries to yell out, but not a sound escapes him, and only then does he realize there's a tube down his throat and he fights the panic bubbling up inside of him.

He's hyperventilating. Not good. He needs to concentrate. Concentrate! With jerky movements, he swivels his head to the sides, trying to assess his situation.

White walls, looking shiny and as if they are alight with an inner luminescence. The gurney is surrounded by strange monitors, beeping and humming, but he can't read any of the signs he sees, as if this is not…

Human.

This prison is not man made. Wherever he is, it's probably not earth.

The realization is mind boggling, and so vast that he simply has to turn his focus elsewhere. _Inside_ …

There's a strange emptiness inside of him, like he is missing a part, and suddenly he remembers. Bits and pieces at first, then a whole avalanche.

His family, the abuse, the pain, the loneliness. The dog. Garrett. His parents, his brothers, the things he did. And why did he do that, he only wanted to protect Thomas, how could things have gone so wrong, how could _he_ go so wrong, become a monster, a killer, a man who hurt his friends, who…

The beeping in his ears grows too loud.

He is Hive, he is the bringer of evil, no no no no no - and all he ever wanted was for the pain to stop and the loneliness to go away, and…

Skye.

That kid's words. " _I know_ …" Lincoln; Skye's Lincoln (of course...). His sudden surprising understanding for someone like Hive, something so… evil.

A connection. He is not alone anymore. He is not really Hive anymore, he is—

The beeping calms again, then abruptly picks up as he sees…

 _Them_.

* * *

…

He wakes up without remembering falling asleep, or… losing consciousness is probably more like what actually happened.

His eyes dart around the room and he doesn't need long to notice that he is somewhere else now. He scrambles up where he has been lying slumped on the harsh cool floor, and waits for his eyes to get accustomed to the much darker light. It's dim and too humid. Still cold, too. He can feel the goosebumps erupting on his skin and is glad that whoever his captors are bothered giving him a shirt and some sweatpants, nothing much, but better than the nakedness by far.

He looks around some more, feeling slightly dizzy, and a bit angry, too, that he doesn't remember what happened. He stands up, very slowly, feeling aches and pains in his body. His throat is sore from where the tube had been stuck down, and when he now lifts his shirt gingerly, he notices random cuts, his features darkening as his mind puts the pieces together and he understands what is going on.

He is being experimented on. By whatever creepy alien race fished him out of space. Perfect. If that doesn't seem like a bad cliché.

He shakes his head, sniffling in the cold as he continues scrutinizing his surroundings. The place is surprisingly large, maybe twelve by twelve feet, and rather barren. There's a cot in one corner, with a heap of blankets on top, and behind a half wall, a small wash stand and a toilet, at least more private than a prison cell on earth, he randomly thinks before a sudden movement catches his attention and he realizes that under the blankets, there's actually another body.

With his memories having caught up with him before, harsh and unforgiving, he thinks this can only mean one thing: that the man who stopped him (or what he was at the time) is here with him, incarcerated just like him, and he scoffs a little at the poetic randomness of it.

Guess fate doesn't care whether you overrule or safe the world. If he was religious - which he really isn't anymore (because, frankly, working with S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA, and turning into Hive have taught him otherwise) - but if he was religious, he would now know that even god doesn't care whether you give your life for the good cause. Because if Lincoln Campbell is here with him, in this... this _hell_ , then god has left them to their fates long ago and there is no justice.

* * *

…

* * *

...

Pain is the last thing he felt and pain is the first thing he feels now.

Lincoln's eyelids flutter as he tries to peel them open, but it is so damn hard, and his side is on fire, when it really shouldn't be. Not anymore. Because he should be dead, right?

Daisy saw it happening in her vision. He saw it, too, sitting there, with a warhead so close, with Hive even closer.

He remembers their last conversation, his sudden… almost compassion for that lost Inhuman, and then…

Nothing.

Death came swiftly, but what he doesn't yet know and will soon find out, is that someone else came to his "aid" just in time, and just as swiftly. And here he is, his bare back against the almost freezing surface of a gurney of some sort, and the searing pain in his side is back full force, consuming him, and when he tries to look, tries to make a noise - a moan of pain perhaps or an involuntary whimper - he can't, because his whole body is paralyzed and he can't move. There are… people around him, or… he isn't sure. They don't look like people, more like… aliens? But that can't be right, his body and mind are probably just shutting down and he's in a state between life and death, because sure as hell this can't be the actual afterlife, that which comes after death.

He doesn't feel dead, though, the pain is way too intense for that.

No. Shit. This can't be it. It can't be. It can't be…

Daisy…

He tries to focus on her, then on taking a deep breath, but he can't, some machine is doing it for him. This is not good.

Frantically, he tries to look around, tries to move his arms, but he feels the hard pull of restraints of some form and then the pain in his torso grows even more, if that is even possible, and he hears the clicking noises of another machine… or, no, of the aliens, all closing in on him with their beady eyes and too long limbs and he feels a panic come crashing over him like a wave of a darkness as alien as the faces around him, something he wants to fight, needs to fight, but he can't. He can't, because the pain—

...

It's just like when HYDRA had him. Maybe even worse. He can't do this again. He almost died the first go around, and back then he hadn't started out with a bad injury and a miraculous rescue from a suicide mission.

He swallows, his mouth too dry, his lips cracked, and he gives up, using his last strength to focus on something, anything to take his weary mind off things.

Daisy… Always her.

All he ever wanted was to live a quiet peaceful life. And to help people… He almost chuckles, before a new wave of pain washes over him, radiating through his entire body from the site where James hit him what feels like ages ago. In another life.

At least he spared her this fate that is worse than death. He couldn't bear to think Daisy had to go through this, too. Or anyone, for that matter.

Freaking Afterlife. He kind of wishes someone could come and destroy this one, too. But why would they. No one even knows about it. There is no hope. He is alone.

The next time the pain explodes in his body, his conscience shows mercy and whisks him down a dark spiral until there is nothing anymore.

* * *

…

"Lincoln?"

He hears the voice but he's too exhausted, too spent to open his eyes and look for its source. Who here would really know his name anyways? Unless… the aliens can probably read his mind.

"Lincoln. Come on, kid."

Kid? That's new. He is no one's kid anymore and he doesn't think anyone here would call him that, either. He can hear someone's loud sigh, feels a weight shift right next to him, as if someone just sat down.

"Kinda fitting that I'd end up stuck here with an almost dead boyfriend of Skye's…"

Skye. Not many call her that anymore. Even Coulson rarely slips up anymore. Ward, on the other hand...

Lincoln manages to finally open his eyes and turn his head the slightest bit. Everything hurts, even that small gesture, just like the shocked gasped breath he takes next and that burns in his lungs like mustard gas.

"Ward?!" Incredulity makes him momentarily forget his current state and he tries to pull himself up and into a sitting position too quickly, instantly regretting it.

He hisses out, grimacing, and doesn't even mind or care when he feels Grant freaking Ward gently pushing him back down.

"Easy, kid. Don't want to rip out your stitches."

"Stitches. Wha'?" Still confused, still out of it, Lincoln tries to sit up again, but Ward's strong hands are still on his chest and the man shakes his head at him, a surprisingly soft and friendly… smile on his face.

"You're in even worse shape than I am, and that's saying something, seeing as I… my body was dead for much longer than yours." Grant grins briefly, finally easing up on his grip. "Stay down, okay? We'll have to try and get you back to health. I'm afraid you and I will have to work together if we ever want to escape this godforsaken hellhole."

He gives Lincoln a gentle pat on the arm, but even that makes him grimace and Ward actually apologizes, leaving him more confused than before.

So he's not alone after all. Instead, he's stuck in hell with one Grant Ward, formerly (or is he?) Hive, formerly S.H.I.E.L.D., formerly HYDRA, formerly a friend to his team, also a torturer, a killer, and the ex-boyfriend of his girlfriend - if he can even still call her that after... this. She probably thinks he died. As he should have.

"We should be dead…"

Grant swallows, his throat moving as he does. "Yeah, well. I've come to accept that strange things happen to me. But, consider yourself lucky. I may not have an Inhuman in me anymore - at least I don't think so, but I'm a human cockroach if ever there was one, and you know what they say about those." He pauses briefly, but not because he wants an answer. Lincoln doesn't have the strength to talk more anyways. "So, you're in the best company you probably could be under the circumstances. And since I need your help, or more like, your powers, I'll do my damn best to make sure we can get you strong enough to spark this place up."

Yeah, Lincoln thinks. He really should be dead.

But he isn't. And neither is Ward. He looks up at the man, his gaze clouding over, and he wants to try and stay conscious, wants to try and talk options, be hopeful, but it's so hard and he is so exhausted and Ward's gentle touch against his neck, as if making sure he still had a pulse, is the only thing clueing him in on the fact that he's lost the fight against unconsciousness yet again, at least for the time being.

They'll have to make plans another time. At least now he knows there is still hope, if little. Maybe, maybe they _will_ get out of this. Maybe he will see Daisy again after all.

...

"Good. You rest, kid." Grant is mumbling to himself. He slides off the cot and sits down leaning against it, where he can hear the labored breathing of his cell mate, where he feels like he is not alone. He'll get the kid back in shape somehow, at least enough to light a spark. He has to. And then... "We'll get out of here. I'll even get you back to Skye. If she doesn't kill me first..."

He chuckles, but without humor. He knows he's done too much bad in his life and he doesn't even understand why he of all people gets so many extra chances, but he'll be damned if he doesn't take this one.

There is still hope for them, there is still hope for Grant Ward, and this time, he's going to make amends and earn it.

...

Time to escape this freaking afterlife...


	2. Bugged

...

A loud yell escapes Grant Ward when he is next examined by their captors, or rescuers, or whatever the hell you want to call them. Freaking aliens. Again. He would roll his eyes if he wasn't so... preoccupied.

He wiggles in his seat, fighting against the restraints as someone comes way too close to him with what looks like a giant slug or worm or who knows what it is. But it's nothing good and he doesn't want it anywhere near him.

"Get the hell away from me!" He yells out, but no one pays him any attention.

"Grant Ward was infested with a worm-like symbiotic life form before. Grant Ward should not feel repulsed."

He snorts. "Really? Is that your reasoning? That… that Inhuman _thing_ didn't ask me before taking over my body. I was freaking dead, you understand? Dead! Ask Phil Coulson - if you can find the bastard. He killed me!"

Straining against his binds, he tries to get away from the people, vaguely realizing that they do look like humans now, and maybe his mind was playing tricks on him before? No. They are using some kind of interface now, like a virtual reality type thing, to communicate with him. He is guessing it's the same for Lincoln, too, but he hasn't gotten around to asking the kid, seeing as this is a very new development.

No more tentacled cliché extra terrestrial beings then. He can't say that he minds.

But this feels all too real regardlessly. One more movement and… he feels the worm crawl down his ear canal, no matter his desperate attempts to convince them not to do it.

Just like anticipated, it's a rather unpleasant feeling, to put it mildly. He can't stop yelling. All the way back to his cell, he is yelling in pain, the thing's loud movements in his ear making him feel like it's eating away at his insides.

...

They leave him in a heap on his cot, and he dimly notes that the cell is vacated, Skye's newest boy toy probably getting the same lovely treatment, before he pushes himself up on his elbows and fishes for the thing he has been working on in secret these past few days or weeks or however long it's been.

He's half crazy with the scraping, slithering feeling in his head, a panic creeping up inside of him as the worm seems to make its way deeper into his head, toward his brain probably, and god knows what it's supposed to be doing there once it has reached its destination. He really doesn't want to know.

All he wants is for that thing to get out of him, and when his grappling hand finally reaches the cool plastic of the spoon he hid after stealing it from one of their lunches (and for which he paid with an interrogation and a beating, thank you very much, you alien assholes!), he breathes out in relief before quickly rushing over to the door with its small wire-glass window, hoping to catch his reflection so he won't have to do this completely in the dark.

An unclear image of himself stares back at him, a milky face with sunken eyes, dark stubble and ruffled hair, but he is not here to admire himself. He needs to get that thing out, stat.

Positioning himself so that he can see the rough outline of his right ear, he takes the spoon and turns it around, the sharpened handle now pointed toward him. Then he grits his teeth and plunges it in.

…

The next thing he knows, he is on his knees, facing the door, holding the shiv in his shaking hand, a harsh pain pulsing in his poor mangled ear. Hissing, he stumbles up and into a standing position, bracing himself against the wall, eyes trained on the worm that he just somehow managed to skewer out of his body.

"Gotcha, little sucker," he breathes, triumphantly, before unsteadily walking back to his cot.

Now what, he wonders, before he starts feeling too shaky and drowsy and decides to just lay down on his cot for a bit. Just a moment to steady himself. Just to close his eyes and rest…

* * *

…

* * *

...

Daisy is merely functioning at first. She is functioning only because she doesn't allow herself to think about what happened, doesn't allow herself to dwell on the past, including the people that she loves.

Those still alive, and those not…

But there is no such thing as staying away, and she is easily pulled back in when her team needs her - when she needs _them_.

...

Months later, and she suddenly finds herself in a different hell altogether, the Framework, and when Aida promises she can bring Lincoln back, Daisy feels herself falter.

A deep ache spreads inside of her as she is faced with an impossible decision, and when she makes that decision in spite of everything, she still feels guilty.

But she has to choose her real life friends over the coded version of Lincoln Campbell, because of course he is dead, and no zeros and ones can ever bring him back for real.

…

What does real even mean, anyway?

...

When she meets Grant Ward in the Framework, when she leaves him behind again, she feels almost deprived. Because there is the man she once thought he was and knowing that he had it in him, if only his path had taken a different turn, if only… It breaks her heart. She never thought she still had compassion left for him, after everything, but apparently she does. Go figure.

Daisy Johnson is a screwed up girl, and there's nothing new there. But she is strong, too, and determined. Now she only has to figure out yet again how to live life, how to adapt. (And she's freaking good at adapting, so screw you, fate!)

She can do this. Look ahead, never back. She says goodbye, finally, to Lincoln, to Ward, and takes a shuddering breath as she follows Coulson into the diner.

* * *

…

* * *

…

Ward finds the kid banging his head against the wall like a madman when he wakes up from a short (or was it?) slumber. He isn't quite sure whether it's because of the diet they keep them on - and that barely offers enough calories to go on, or whether they pump some sleeping gas into their cell or something, but they often feel incredibly tired, and barely ever have enough energy to do anything involving physical activity.

It would explain a lot, that gas. Why else would Grant Ward have slept through their captors bringing his cell mate back in this state. It's not like Campbell is exactly quiet, either. No, he's screaming on and off. There is no question as to why, of course. But what gets through to Grant now is a different sound, quieter, more ominous: a staticky crackle emanating from the kid's hands.

Ward sees it happening in slow motion, too mesmerized for a moment to react, before he realizes what is going on and jumps up abruptly, rushing toward the kid.

"No!" He is yelling. "Stop!"

The kid is going to fry his own goddamn brain.

Ward doesn't think, just grabs Campbell's arms by the wrists and pulls them away roughly.

"Stop!" he repeats, as Lincoln tries to fight him off, banging his head into the wall again, before turning against Grant, trying to free his arms. But the older man has a death grip, and the kid a worm in his ear, so their fight is no fight of equals, and Grant easily manhandles the younger one over to his cot.

"Calm the fuck down," he hisses, shoving the man down with both arms, never letting go of his wrists.

"I'm trying to help. But you have to stay still."

…

"Get it out get it out get it out!"

Lincoln can't help himself. He yells the words, they sputter from his lips in a never ending cascade as he clutches his head in his hands, desperate for relief. For it to stop.

"Easy, kid. I can't do anything if you don't keep still and let me see, okay?" Ward soothes but it barely registers with him. Lincoln still can't believe he is stuck in this nightmare with Grant Ward of all people. But here they are. Somewhere in his head he thinks he would have rather shared a cell with Hive (at least he was Inhuman too, at least he understood, and how fucked up is that thought?), but no such luck.

"Get it out…"

He's almost crying. No, he _is_ crying, it's too much to handle, and he doesn't even care that Ward is there to witness.

Lincoln has screwed his life up; he's an addict, he almost killed his ex-girlfriend and himself, his friend John died because of him. He's been chased, by the ATCU, by SHIELD, by Hydra, he's been cut into and tortured before, and now by these people, whoever they are, again. But this, this crawling thing, is the worst.

"Hold still!" Ward's tone is commanding, and Lincoln tries to obey, he swears he does, but there's this bug inside his ear and it's wiggling and making noises, tenfold amped up by the fact that they're right in his freaking ear and it hurts. It _hurts_. It hurts so bad, it feels so nightmarishly uncomfortable, he wants to die.

Just yesterday he had been hopeful for a bit. The first day without experiments. They had left them both alone, had even given them access to some books. He had worked out a bit to get his mind off things and had listened to Ward's musings about what might have happened, why Hive was gone and Grant Ward back from the dead, and Lincoln had allowed himself to hope they would manage to get out of this place somehow, that maybe he would get to see Daisy again after all.

"Surprise! I'm not dead," he could say and smile at her and she would be shocked for a bit of course, they would probably test the verity of his claim that he was indeed Lincoln Campbell and not an imposter, or Hive in a different body. But honestly, he wouldn't even mind if they kept him in one of SHIELDS containment units for a month at this point.

He just wants Daisy. He wants to change his mind and do whatever it takes to be with her. Even finishing his training and becoming a real agent doesn't sound so bad anymore.

Gosh, he really wants that.

But then they came back, hurled first Ward, then him away, and he doesn't know what happened to his companion, though since he got a bug stuck in his ear, he's pretty sure Ward got the same treatment. Lincoln doesn't comprehend how the man is still functioning. Clearly he is made from a different cloth, because for Lincoln, ever since that parasite, life has been even more of a hell than before, and he can't take it anymore.

The thing has to come out, or he will go crazy. He will.

…

Grant doesn't even know why he does what he does: why he is trying to help. It's as if he is on autopilot. No questions asked, no deals made. Surprisingly, he realizes he really just wants to help the guy, he doesn't need to get an extra meal or clean shirt out of it, or whatever the hell the kid could even offer him here. (The truth is, there is nothing he would want.)

"Easy now…"

He is pushing Lincoln's face against the thin blanket they were given and tries to angle his head so he can see inside his ear. The poor kid is only continuing to fight him for a few seconds longer, before he succumbs, giving up or giving in, the difference doesn't matter. It's probably all the same to him now. If he's feeling anything like Grant did mere hours earlier, then he'll just wish for this to be over any way possible; and if over means death, then that is okay too.

The shiv type thing in his hand held at the ready, Ward prepares himself. Briefly, Lincoln's eyes lock on his, a new panic mixing with the old as he sees the instrument, but Grant merely shakes his head at him.

"You want this over or not?"

Upon Lincoln's weak grimace and groaned out "Do it," he gets to work, slowly pushing the long plastic bit into the kid's ear canal.

The reaction is instantaneous: the scream so loud Ward turns around furtively to make sure their captors aren't there to stop him yet.

He finishes his bloody work, trying to still Lincoln's renewed thrashing as best as he can, before there is no moving anymore, before he feels a resistance against the shiv that grows the more he pushes, and with a hard plunge, he finally pierces the alien thing, triumphantly pulling it back out very carefully.

Leaning over to inspect it, he notices that it looks almost exactly like the one in his ear: long, somewhat grayish with a vibrant blue line across its back. But this one has tons of tiny legs, and he briefly wonders whether he just didn't see the ones on his, or whether humans and Inhumans need different kinds of bugs for whatever procedure their captors subject them to.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. This place is messing with him. Everything is messing with him. He returned from the dead, for fuck's sake, so why is anything even still puzzling him?

"See?" He says, deciding to break his train of thought before he goes down a rabbit hole that would only take his focus away from where he needs it, in the here and now. "There's the little bugger."

He looks at Campbell then, only to find the Inhuman's eyes closed, his body a bit too still. The kid passed out. Great. Grant makes a face, then sits down next to him for a moment, breathing heavily.

What a day. Absently, he pats Lincoln's arm, waits until his own breathing calms down, then slowly gets up with another look at the other man. He sighs, unsure how to handle this. These feelings... It's been a long time since he's felt like this, caring about someone. There was Thomas, of course. And Skye.

He licks his lips, inhaling deeply, looking at the dead impaled worm. He needs to focus. There's only one way to dispose of it without immediately alerting their captors to it, and he knows full well that Campbell probably won't have the guts to do it.

Grimacing, Grant brings the worm close to his face, examining it one last time. He's done this before, just hours, in fact, and while it was incredibly unpleasant, he knows he can do it again. And so he does. Closing his eyes, he takes the worm and shoves it into his mouth, beginning to chew. He gags a couple of times, then swallows.

It's over. For now.

Hopefully there are no cameras or other surveillance he isn't aware of, because if he has just done this for nothing, and for Skye's boyfriend to boot, he'll not be pleased.

He doesn't even know why he spared the man having to dispose of the worm. Did he grow a humane heart all of a sudden? Why does he feel like something in him has changed? Profoundly...


	3. Without a plan

...

It's dark and too quiet. Slowly, his eyes adjust to his surroundings, and Lincoln bolts up abruptly as the memory hits him.

Clutching his ear as the pain shoots through it mercilessly, he sways and has to use his free hand to steady himself against his cot.

Ward got the bug out, though. No more funny noises, no more grating tickly, itchy tiny legs scraping away inside his ear. Instead, that feeling got replaced by this pulsing warm pain that is giving him a pounding headache and apparently messes with his sense of equilibrium.

He's lucky he is even still alive. Did Ward really plunge that piece of plastic down his ear? Lincoln shivers involuntarily, then slowly moves to get up.

He closes his eyes. Holding onto the wall, he waits for the wooziness to recede, for his blood to flow back into his head. He breathes heavily, for the first time realizing the complete absence of sound on his right side.

His hearing, it's gone. It shouldn't surprise him, not after what Ward did, but it shocks him nonetheless, and for a moment he worries that he'll lose his balance after all.

Then his gaze falls on his cell mate, who seems to have fallen asleep on his own cot, just a few feet away.

"Ward." His voice is nothing but a harsh whisper, his throat sore from all the screaming he did earlier. He grimaces, then tries again. "Ward."

Maybe he should let the man sleep, but something tells him it's better to check up on him, make sure he's alright too, and then… thank him.

Slowly, steadying himself against the wall, he makes his way over until he reaches the other man's cot, where he can't help but let himself slide down with his back against the wall, until he is sitting right beside Ward's bedstead, a mere few inches from the man's troubled looking face.

He feels nauseous. Heaving gulps of air into his lungs, he tries to gain control back over his body, tries not to vomit, but it's not easy. Saliva is pooling in his mouth and he briefly estimates how far it is to the toilet or the sink, before he makes a mad dash for it, and - just in time - the poor contents of his stomach make their way into the shiny metal toilet bowl.

"Crap." It happens again, twice, three times, more, until he is covered in cold sweat, his throat raw, his stomach in painful knots from the strain, his ear bleeding down his neck and onto his shirt in a red line, but he doesn't even care.

When he looks down, the blood has already mixed with that from the stitches he must have ripped in his side. His fingers flutter over his scrub shirt, but strangely, when he lifts it, he notices there is no new pain.

Finally, he manages to let himself fall back against the wall, using his arms to keep himself up as best as he can even though he wants to allow himself to collapse, wants to feel the cool tile against his burning hot ear.

The bug, or probably rather Ward's operation must have taken a bigger toll on him than he first thought. There won't be any hiding this from their captors, and he doesn't even dare think what they'll do when they find him in this state - minus the bug.

Will they do it again? Plant another one of those things in him? This time in his other ear?

He is shaking violently now, not sure whether it's because of that prospect or the damage done to him, but he has to focus.

If Ward did this to him, chances are, the man did it to himself as well. No way did their captors just use a bug on one of them.

The doctor in Lincoln comes through, and he hauls himself up and over to the sink, briefly cleaning himself up as best as he can before making his way back to his companion. He needs to check on the man. What if he's not sleeping but unconscious? What could he have damaged by operating on himself? If Lincoln's own state is anything to go by, it could be bad. Really bad.

* * *

…

* * *

…

Fitz feels lost when he makes it out of the Framework. He lost himself in there in ways he never deemed possible, and learning to live with that knowledge, with what he is capable of - he, Leopold Fitz - it seems impossible.

He shot Agnes. And while everything else he did could be explained away as the writing of a program, as just code, Agnes cannot. She was a person, and he killed her, or what was left of her.

With a gasp, he wakes up from another nightmare, only to find himself alone in his room, unable to calm back down.

What does it mean when he suddenly understands all that has befallen Grant Ward, the big brother he never had, the man who betrayed his trust, betrayed them all, tortured Bobbi and Simmons, and is responsible for his brain damage (which, ironically, he overcame better than he'll probably ever overcome this.)

He makes his way over to the lab, working on putting things back together, repairing what has been damaged in the attacks, because it's easier to focus on material damage than his own. This, he can fix. It might take time, but the lab will be as good as new.

He, on the other hand...

"Fitz?"

Her small voice at the door alerts him to the fact that he is not alone anymore, and he flinches away almost involuntarily when she steps closer and closer until she's made it all the way over to him.

"Are you…"

"Alright?"

She looks at him so full of pain and sympathy that he wants to cry out, but can't. Oh gosh, he hurt this woman, and he never wanted anything bad to happen to her ever again.

"Jemma."

"I know," she says, as if she really does, and knowing her, that is probably the case, and he feels himself crumple under her caring gaze, he can't hold it together any more, it's all too much.

"I'm no better than Ward," he chokes out, feeling Jemma's arms come around him in a warm embrace that he doesn't deserve but doesn't have the strength to fight either, because, god, if it doesn't feel good. And nothing has felt good in a long long time.

"That's not true."

"But it _is_! See, what if his life had taken a different turn. With my dad in the picture, I…" His voice falters, he can't bring himself to say it, but as always, Jemma already knows.

"You're not a monster, Leo." She sighs, and he breathes her in. "For what it's worth, I do believe that Ward wasn't always… evil, either."

He looks up at her then, shaking his head, still unsure, still confused and broken and so very sorry for everything, and he needs to know.

"But. Jemma. What would you do - what would you have done if Aida had given Framework-Ward a… a body, just like herself. How would you have treated him, knowing what he did, what he did to _you_! Knowing that there's _our_ version of him, too?"

She tightens her grip on him momentarily, then let go to look at him. He's not sure he is ready for her reply, but he has to hear it. He has to.

* * *

…

* * *

…

Ward is confused. There's a storm of images in his head, interspersed with the dull beat of pain, and he vaguely remembers what he did to himself, what _they_ did to him that forced him to go to such lengths, but it doesn't even make sense.

There's the dog again, that poor animal he still cares for. And Garrett. His brothers, his parents. The nightmare of his childhood days. Somewhere, something went wrong.

He tries to wake himself up, but can't. It's like a lucid dream, he knows these are memories, that he's asleep. He remembers the aliens, his cell. Hell, he remembers being Hive and then… simply not anymore. Even the guy that is trying to shake him awake now is there, in his mind, but something is dragging him down, his body feeling exhausted from all the strain and he feels ready to just give up.

Once, he was a good kid. Then he screwed that up. He lived for power, for getting what he wanted, his selfishness, his love for himself overpowering everything else, even his love for Thomas, or Skye, or his friends.

He betrayed them all, even poor harmless Fitz, who he had seen as a surrogate for Thomas maybe, or just for a family member, and now he can't understand anymore why he did what he did, and why it happened the way it did.

They had given him second chances. At times, he had let a flicker of something good peek through again, like with Kara, but then…

The dark impulses had always been stronger.

Now these aliens, or maybe even Hive, or death, something, something took all that away, the bad in him, and left him with a guilt he can't quite comprehend or even deal with.

He is a bad man, but he doesn't want to be anymore. If he gets a chance to leave this godforsaken place behind, would he even get another chance?

How far is too far for redemption? Grant has no idea, all he knows is that… it hurts.

* * *

…

"Shit."

Lincoln hurries to check Ward's vital signs, but the man isn't breathing, his heart mananging a last beat before giving out, and on top of everything that just happened, Lincoln suddenly finds himself in a position where he has to try and save Grant Ward's life.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," he hisses as he begins CPR, almost too weak and exhausted to manage, but he has to, because no one else can do it for him. "And I'm not gonna let you freaking die on me! You're not leaving! You're not getting away this easily." He chokes the words out with every push downward on the man's chest, but there's no reaction, nothing.

Lincoln breathes his own stale breath into Ward's lungs, briefly feeling sorry for the lingering vomit smell probably passing over to the other man as he presses his lips against Ward's, but there's worse things, even here, and death is certainly one of them.

He can't do this alone. He can't survive this place alone, can't _be_ alone.

"Come on, Ward!"

It doesn't even quite register with him how panicked he has become, how desperate. He never knew or cared much for Grant Ward, rather the opposite, the man is - or was - an evil bastard and what he did to Daisy, how he fooled and betrayed her, makes him angry to say the least, but Lincoln needs this man, he needs who he is now, post Hive, post alien abduction, and Ward simply _has_ to live.

"Fuck!"

He almost vomits again, so exhausted that his entire body is shaking and he can't continue resuscitating Ward, at least not in the old fashioned way, so he quickly checks whether he has enough strength to generate any electricity, and, finding that he does, he tries a different route.

Ward's body comes up to meet his hands as sparks light up between them, but nothing else happens, until Lincoln tries it again, and again. Holding his hands inches away from Grant Ward's chest, static crackles, bluish flashes wandering from his hands down into the man's body until electrical burns form on the skin, until Lincoln's arms and hands and fingers shake so bad he can't control it anymore, until he breaks down in a lump on the floor, heaving and cold and so horribly nauseous, and Ward suddenly takes a gasping breath and yells, "That freaking hurts! Jesus Christ. Stop!"

...

Grant opens his eyes to see a somewhat flustered and relieved looking Lincoln stare back at him, breathing a little too harshly, shaking so violently like a naked man in a snow storm and frankly…

"Wow. You look like shit."

Campbell scoffs, a small crackle in his hands dying down, and Ward's eyes narrow when he sees it.

"Did you just shock me?"

"Your freaking heart stopped. So yeah."

"Huh." Grant moves, trying to sit up, but his companion shakes his head and pushes him back down. Role reversal. Grant smiles in amusement before he understands what the kid just said.

His heart stopped.

"Stopped? As in, heart attack?"

Lincoln shrugs, letting himself sink against the wall right next to Grant, his entire body shaking, and in a strange urge Grant manages to grab his blanket and throws it over to him, the kid's eyes flickering with surprise when he does (or maybe even gratitude, the whole situation is certainly a bit bizarre).

"I don't know. Could be. The stress and strain… you did a better job with your ear than with mine though, at least." Campbell grins humorlessly, causing Grant to chuckle.

"I'm not a surgeon," he allows apologetically, "but it was either that or you frying your own brain."

"I know." The admittance comes quickly, and Ward can appreciate that. There's no need for any lies down here. Definitely not about having the wish to off oneself. "Thanks," Lincoln mutters, "for saving my life…"

"Likewise."

The two men exchange a glance and suddenly both start chuckling, until Grant winces in pain from where his chest is sore, and he lifts his shirt gingerly to check. Kid left a mark on his skin. This was not a small little shock…

"How long, you think?" the kid suddenly asks a little cryptically and Grant frowns at him briefly before he explains further, "They've gotta be onto us. Pretty sure they are monitoring us somehow, at least our vital signs and…"

"And I just died. Again," Grant states a bit sourly, nodding. "Probably not much longer now, then."

"Which means we gotta get out. Fight, if he have to. Do something. I mean, we can't hide, but I…" Lincoln's voice grows so quiet Grant isn't sure he can even hear him correctly anymore. "I can't do this again. I'd honestly rather die trying to escape."

Understandable. Yeah, Grant can get behind that, too. He has nothing left to lose. This is his third or fourth or fifth chance, his second (third, if you count Hive..) life after certain death and while he cherishes life, he is no longer afraid enough of dying to let these aliens do whatever the hell they want with him.

"Okay," he therefore agrees. "Got a plan?"

Lincoln gives him a look, then grimaces.

Forget that they're both in pretty dang bad shape. Forget that Grant just got shocked back to life and that Lincoln can barely stand up straight. Forget that they have no clue where they are and what they're even up against, forget all that, because they'll still be ready when the aliens come.

Even without a plan.

They simply have to be.


	4. What now?

...

They are barely able to move, but the urge to survive keeps them going as they get up and make their way around their whole cell, feeling the walls for any cracks or loose bolts, anything they could start peeling off, digging away at, to get out somehow. But this is not the _Shawshank Redemption_ , and the walls they encounter are seamless, so smooth they can't even dig their own nails in there. There is nothing for them to grab onto. Even their bathroom corner is a construct as if molded out of one giant smooth slab of material, no nook, no cranny, no screws in sight. Nothing.

The only way out is the door; and they can't possibly start digging away at that one, in full view of their captors - if ever they come back.

Frustrated, they eventually give up. Looking at each other, they shake their heads, then walk over to the bed and sit back down, breathing out harsh exhausted breaths, their abused bodies not quite up for the added exercise.

Ward grimaces as he feels his chest burn with every breath, but doesn't say anything. Campbell by his side looks so positively ashen that he wonders whether the kid will pass out on him, but after a few minutes of sitting, a bit of color comes back into his lips, just enough to make Ward stop worrying.

Their demise has a strange effect on him: he actively worries about this kid. Shaking his head at himself, he lets his mind wander for a bit.

...

"So," he eventually begins, because he feels like one of them has to break the silence, but they are both not ready yet to face the truth. That they're probably just waiting for the next round of torture and experiments at this point after all. Despite everything they said...

"What do you want to do if we ever get out of here... and back?" Grant gives Lincoln a sideways glance as they both continue sitting on his bed, waiting. He resumes staring at his arms resting on his knees, a position not unlike his companion's, though Ward is a little more sunken into himself - but then again, he almost just died.

Lincoln scoffs softly. "I don't know," he says, indulging Ward with an answer that thankfully doesn't begin by doubting they _will_ eventually be able to make it out alive, and he appreciates that. "All I want at this point is to see Daisy one more time. I was…" Lincoln falters, and Grant squints at him.

"You were what?" he cajoles when the younger man doesn't continue, and, with a heavy sigh, Lincoln resumes talking, if even quieter than before.

"I was ready to give it all up. Give her up. Leave SHIELD…"

"Well. I'm not blaming you on that last one." Ward can't help a chuckle, but the kid doesn't even show any reaction.

"I never told her. Just Coulson."

Ward rolls his eyes but refrains from making a comment.

"Still, I wish I could take it all back…"

Licking his lips, Ward rolls his neck. He sighs, understanding the hurt better than he would care to admit.

"Me too," he eventually allows, saying what he hasn't dared thinking for way too long. Feeling the words on his tongue, actually hearing them out loud, gives him a sharp pang. But not of regret. Of yearning. Once, that girl was his. Could have been his. And then… Everything fell apart.

He notices Lincoln's awkward stare, and grins to himself. He can't blame the kid. To him, Grant Ward is probably just a goddamn psycho, formerly infested by some Inhuman would-be god, with as bad of a track record of horrible deeds as the worst villains out there.

He sighs. If only Skye had given him a real chance. No. He can't shift the blame to her. Skye…

Skye. Something is working in his head. Only now does he notice how quiet they have become, and speaking again feels strange, but he does it anyway.

"Was it ever weird for you to call her Daisy?"

...

His question hits Lincoln pretty much out of the blue and he gives the older man a look, frowning. Really? That's what's going on in Ward's head right now? Daisy's many names?

He scoffs, grinning disbelievingly.

"It was never weird, no. It's her name."

"Yeah, but. I mean… I guess you didn't know her as Skye as long as I did." He can't help it, he has to remind the kid that Grant Ward has known Skye for much longer than Lincoln Campbell.

"No," Lincoln agrees carefully, "but it doesn't matter. Daisy is her real name. The one chosen for her, and more importantly, the one _she_ chose for herself. It's a matter of respect to call her what she wants to be called."

Grant makes an appreciative face. He can appreciate that, though he could do without the Inhuman's lofty better-than-thou attitude accompanying it. As if Ward doesn't respect her as much.

Stupid kid, you have no idea...

It's probably better to change the subject, he decides, because he feels a certain anger bubbling up inside of him that is dangerous. And surprisingly unwelcome.

"Any ideas on how we could still make it out of here?"

Lincoln is a little thrown by the other man's non-sequitur, but is quick to keep up. It's not like he hasn't gone over possible escape scenarios in his head ever since they realized they'll only get out through the actual door.

Maybe if he gets enough energy to fire a good electrical blast once someone comes to retrieve them? Someone _should_ come for them soon, right?

Shrugging, he faces his companion. "Attack whenever they come to get us?"

Ward grins, looking only half amused. "Right. In the state we're in, that's gonna leave a hell of an impact on them."

"I'll try and blast them with electricity and we'll make a run for it. - I don't know! Do you have a better idea?!" Lincoln challenges, suddenly a little more heatedly, feeling frustration rise to the forefront, past his hopelessness.

"One you won't like," Ward replies cryptically, and when he elaborates, Lincoln agrees: he really doesn't like it. Not one bit.

But they don't have much time to come up with a better idea, for right then, they hear noises at the door. Someone has finally decided to check up on them...


	5. Red light at the end of the tunnel

…

As soon as the doors open, they prepare to attack. They are perfectly aware of how futile this will probably be, but they have to try anyways. The alternative, docilely waiting for these… these _monsters_ to just come and collect them for more painful experiments, is unacceptable.

So Lincoln fires up electric blasts as best as his weak body will allow, and when they see the strange creatures in their cloaks of humanized forms, he shoots bolts of crackling static at them until his body is shaking so badly again that he can only watch passively as Ward continues their attack in his own way: with his body ramming into their captors, trying to pummel them, until they lie in heaps on the ground.

Lincoln is too out of it, too weak to quite comprehend as he sees his companion in action. It's as if this is not his life at all, he is just watching from very far away.

But suddenly, he feels Ward pull at him, sees his mouth move as the guy is saying something that he can't hear with his butchered ear, but he stumbles after the other man anyway, staring back at the now flickering forms of the aliens as they rush past them.

* * *

…

They don't make it very far. Grant has just allowed himself to hope they can make it, has just spotted a large gate of some sort that he tries to get to, still tugging hard at Lincoln as he runs, when out of nowhere, a searing pain shoots into his body, and the next thing he knows, he crumples down on the ground, staring at Lincoln falling right next to him before his chin connects harshly with the cold floor and the darkness of unconsciousness erases the world around him.

...

When he comes to, he knows immediately where he is. Back on the examining table, or gurney, or whatever you want to call it. He is wearing the same scrub-like clothes he has worn before, just a different color, white.

He closes his eyes and tries to take a calming breath. Despair is hovering at the edges of his conscience, and he has to fight it down or he will not ever get out of that horrible feeling or this horrible place. He needs to keep his spirits up.

But how, when all he sees is the eerie white of the ceiling and walls of that vast room they tortured him in before, a room so seamless that his eyes can't find anything to occupy themselves with besides the beeping monitor recording the fluctuations in his heartbeat when these… things practice their torture skills on him.

He almost laughs when they do. In fact, when they begin tearing out his toenails and fingernails, he does catch himself chuckling like an insane man, because, come on, the irony is just a little too obvious.

The tortured soul becomes the torturer only to become the tortured one once again. It's like he's come full circle. Karma is, indeed, a bitch.

Is this it, then? Is this "Ward dies at the end?" An endless loop of pain until there will be nothing left of him and he dies a forgotten death, because to the world, he is dead already.

No. He's not willing to accept that. He doesn't break easily, he won't do it now. He survived so much, he will survive this too. They'll just have to hone their plan and then...

…

That is easier said than done.

He must have passed out at some point during their treatment, because when he opens his eyes again, his hands and feet are pulsing with pain, but the brightness of the glaring walls is gone and he finds himself in his cell. No, not his cell. He slowly pushes himself up on his elbows and looks around in confusion, assessing the situation.

This cell is way smaller. Way way smaller. Just a bed and a toilet and a sink, no fancy half walled off privacy this time around, because he notices he won't need it here.

He doesn't have a companion anymore. Lincoln is somewhere else. The realization sends an unexpected spark of panic down his spine, something he doesn't even quite understand because he's been a lone wolf for so long now that he forgot he actually craves human interactions.

That kid has really grown on him, hasn't he? Grant chuckles humorlessly to himself. It's a whole new level of torture for him. Being alone when he's gotten used to company...

Great. Now he'll have to find his way out of here alone, maybe find Lincoln on the way, because if they want a real chance, they still need each other. He can't take them all on by himself.

(He doesn't want to be alone in this…)

* * *

…

* * *

…

It is surprising how resilient these humans are. The older one, the one that had a larva of some form hugging his cerebral cortex, seems to be especially sturdy, even after they extricated the thing that made him so strong.

Sadly, the organism died when it tried to find a new home in one of them, so they couldn't study it properly, but these human specimen are interesting on their own.

It's hard to understand the man that used to be just a shell, a house. They have a hard time making sense of him. They needed a while to get his system functioning again, repairing his body, restoring his brain activity, filtering his memories. But in the end they succeeded, they brought him back, and what they learned confuses them.

This man has survived a lot. But will he survive what they have in store for him? They want him to be resilient, because maybe they can use him again, like the Inhuman larva used him, a carrier of their most powerful weapon against humanity, and against the Kree, those idiots that botched their job of creating powerful weapons so horribly.

As evidenced not only in the larva's - their creatures' god - too easy death, but also in what they find through examining one of said weapons thoroughly.

While they don't understand yet how these strange powers are created and how they work, they are pretty sure they'll find a way to inhibit them - or maybe even remotely turn against the ones wielding them.

Like bombs of sorts, activated from a distance to aid in taking over this new lush planet so that they can finally live above ground again, not miles under rock on their forsaken home planet.

They will just have to find a different means than the corrobo worms, since clearly, their subjects had a too easy time extracting those. Something more permanent then, faster acting, perhaps. Or embedded where it can't as easily be taken out…

* * *

…

* * *

…

The noise is unbearable. He can only hear it with one ear of course, but it's enough. Can't it stop? Can't it please stop?

Stoooooop!

…

When Lincoln wakes up, his good ear is still ringing with the echo of that horrible noise that he now realizes came from a drill of sorts, something sharp they used to drill straight into his poor hands, probably in order to see whether he could still shoot electricity out of them once they were done.

He could.

He vaguely remembers doing it. At the height of it all, the pain, the noise, the desperation, electricity was finding its way out of him as if of its own accord, the power surging through him involuntarily, tearing at the raw edges of his broken skin and bones. He couldn't stop it, even though it was agony.

Their crooked humanized faces looked interested, fascinated even, but what he remembers most is Grant Ward, lying just a few feet away from him and imploring him.

"Look at me, kid. Look at me…"

The voice was all he could cling to in order to stay sane, in order to survive. It's why he is still here. He scoffs very softly, the small sound making him flinch because it rips at his sore throat, the pain everywhere now, a part of him.

Very slowly, he moves his head to the side, finding that his arms are secured by his sides, thick straps across his wrists and upper body, another one across his hips and legs, and ankles. He can't move an inch, or the band around his neck cuts off his air supply.

This is even worse than before. Losing hope, he closes his eyes again, all fight leaving him before he can get it to a level that would have made him strain against his binds.

* * *

…

As the days pass, Lincoln Campbell shuts down. There is no way for him to fight when the straps are never released, but somewhere deep deep down, a smidgen of fight remains, lying dormant, waiting until the day they will loosen the binds for whatever reason, waiting for them to think he's given up completely and for them to get lax about the way they treat him, while just a few feet away, Grant Ward is doing the same, spending his days trying to remain sane, trying to weather the abuse to his body and mind.

...

"On the plus side I'm not as alone as I first thought," Grant jokingly informs Lincoln one day, earning himself a confused glare. He can't exactly shrug, but he tries to anyways, his grin widening when he sees the younger man's blank face. "At first I thought they'd keep us isolated from each other, you know, with the new cells. Thought they'd let us go insane, starved for any and all human contact?"

Lincoln clenches his jaw. "Yeah. Not sure which I would have preferred," he states drily and Grant chuckles.

"Not a fan of my company?"

"I don't know. Anyone but you, maybe? I mean, really? Of all the people to be trapped in hell with, I get to be stuck with the guy that tortured and manipulated all of the few people I have left that I care about?" Lincoln hisses in pain when a chuckle tears at his vocal cords too much, and Grant finds himself telling him, "Easy, kid," even though that "kid" just insulted him. He sighs, closing his eyes as he turns his head away from Lincoln.

"Who would have thought indeed," he whispers, smiling to himself, then pausing, contemplating. "You shouldn't even be here," he eventually surmises. "In hell, I mean. That place is not for you. It's for people like me. I deserve this, but you?" He sighs, looking over to the other man again when he doesn't get a reply, not even a scoff.

There is no bodily tension visible in the other man, his head lolling to the side as much as the binds allow. He's unconscious, the one solace they still have: a moment of peace when their bodies give out.

If only he could have a moment like that, too.

* * *

…

The yells and screams become part of Ward's world, not just his own, but Lincoln's, too. What they're doing to the kid, it angers him beyond reason.

Cutting open his arms as if they're trying to carve out the trail the electricity is following; shocking him with electricity until his heart stops as if trying to gauge whether electricity will fight electricity or boost it up.

Strangely, Grant has found himself imploring the kid to hang on, but also telling him about his sad past, all the things that went wrong in his life, about Skye, too, and the plans he has for when they make it back home.

He puts as much conviction into his tone as he possibly can, almost as much to convince himself as Lincoln, because they both need something to believe in, something to keep them from giving up completely.

Another loud yell, and for a moment, he doesn't even know whether it was him or the kid. That happens sometimes. Usually Grant gets his "treatment" once they're done with Lincoln, as if they want to focus solely on one person at a time. But every so often, he finds himself screaming in agony alongside his Inhuman companion, their tormentors rushing through their experiments as if they're a little behind timewise and have to pick up the slack.

Right now, though, the screams are only the kid's. His arms are wide open, the electricity crackling inside like blueish veins, and his whole body begins shaking as Ward looks on in horror.

"Come on, kid," he croaks, his voice hoarse from his own previous torments, and he tries to get the other man's attention, somehow, just to get him out of his head, out of the all encompassing pain, and back here, into the too bright room, with Grant.

"Lincoln. Listen to my voice. Hang in there. Come on, kid. Stay here…"

He doesn't really know what to say so he just rambles on, empty cajoling words as the shaking over on the other examining table continues, the aliens all studiously staring from their test subject to their little tablets then back at the monitors.

It seems to be going on forever. Until an eerie silence replaces the yells, and then… a loud monotonous beeping from one of the monitors, indicating a flatline.

No.

Grant barely notices his breathing picking up, his nostrils flaring as something in him snaps.

"Do something!" he yells at their captors. "Fucking do something! Bring him back!" His fists clenched, he strains against his binds until they cut unpleasantly into his flesh, where they have already badly chafed the skin. Not that he cares. He can barely feel it; there's other things, worse things causing him pain. (Like that broken knee cap, or the cuts in the soles of his feet meant to prevent him from running away again… But he doesn't allow himself to dwell on that either.)

They cannot let Campbell die. Not after everything. There's gotta be some rhyme and reason behind their atrocious doings, a plan, something that involves him and Lincoln staying alive, because why else would they even bother?

He has to tell himself that because the alternative - that this is all just so that some creepy-ass aliens can get off on torture porn - is too much to bear.

"Lincoln! Linc! Come on, kid! You can't die! You can't…" _leave me alone_ , he wants to say, so out of character for him and yet exactly what he feels right now, but the words get choked off as one of their captors comes over to look at him curiously, waving a dismissive hand at his quietly chattering comrades.

"Grant Ward is upset," it says with a gnarly nasal voice that doesn't sound very human at all, and the inflectionless tone makes Ward irate.

"Hell yeah, I am!" he snarls, then spits at the thing, but doesn't get much of a reaction.

"About Lincoln Campbell's condition."

"Condition?! He's freaking dying!" Ward is livid. And so horribly powerless. The strains bite into his flesh mercilessly.

"Interesting," the alien says and Grant wants to punch something.

"Resuscitate him, goddammit," he finally hisses, and the alien cocks its head, watching him as he seethes helplessly.

"Yes," it says. Cold, clinical. Then it turns around, back to the other table, and not a moment later, a massive shock rakes through the kid's body, a crude defibrillator of sorts having been placed on his naked chest, and after another few rounds, Ward finally hears a gasp of breath, before the beeping finally ceases, is replaced with a heart rhythm, before it is quiet once more.

He allows himself to take a deep breath, only now noticing how much he is shaking, his limbs exhausted and spent from the involuntary tremors of his muscles.

Lincoln is back, still alive, if barely, and Grant Ward is not completely alone.

This can't go on. Or he soon will be…

* * *

…

Soon, they notice a certain pattern. There'll be a couple of days of extensive testing, torture, pain, then a week or so of "recess", time for their bodies to recuperate until the next round.

While Ward hates to be alone, the weeks where they leave him in his cell are admittedly soothing. But he misses company, and the loneliness is enough for him to almost be relieved when they finally come to get him again, to bring him into the hated examining room, where he gets to see his brother-in-hell.

Lincoln winks at him when he is wheeled in yet again, an almost grin on his features that is shadowed by the deep circles under his eyes and the thick bandages around his arms, and hands.

There is never enough time for them to truly heal. Not from what they have to endure.

...

But then one day, Grant catches Lincoln trying to use his electricity against himself again, and he snaps out of it, for the kid's sake, maybe even for Skye's more than his own, and he talks the younger man into making plans again once more. Plans for something happening soon. As in, days away, all or nothing. Because they need hope, Lincoln needs hope, or he won't survive this much longer. Neither of them will.

By then, Ward has picked up quite a few details about their captors, has discerned small patterns. He is better trained, a spy, someone with an eye for things that others don't pick up on. Like the fact that they usually are alone for ten to fifteen minutes after being wheeled back into the room, and before the first round of treatment starts.

Those ten to fifteen minutes will have to be their window. Their way out. Their last hope.

After his first stunt with the spoon, the aliens got more careful, always making sure he doesn't keep anything from them. But they didn't count his teeth…

He flinches briefly at the memory of forcing one of his canines out, but there's no time for reminiscing. He's had a few weeks to perfect this, and it has to work now. Once his captors come to bring him to the room, he is ready. As soon as they restrain him, he moves his hand until he can reach the strap binding it down. Using his tooth, he begins the tedious task of sawing through the material.

By the time he sees Lincoln again, he has almost gotten his arm free. The aliens leave them both alone as per usual, and Grant perks up immediately, giving his task his all. He doesn't have much time. This has to work.

Hurrying, he manages to cut through the last piece of restraint until it snaps back and he can move his arm freely. Exchanging a glance with Lincoln, he quickly uses his new freedom to open the rest of his binds, then lets himself fall off the gurney with a harsh thud, briefly cursing before gathering his bearings and starting to crawls over to his companion.

They don't speak a single word through all of it. Eye contact has to function as their only means of communication because they can't risk being detected prematurely.

They only have this one chance. No matter what happens, it will be their last. Grant knows this, so he tries to rush, getting to his cut feet and wincing slightly as he does. Closing his eyes for a split second, he focuses, limping through the pain.

Right now, they don't have the luxury of allowing themselves to let pain rule their bodies or their minds. All that counts is getting out. They can break down after. If they make it.

Touching Lincoln's bandaged arm sends a peculiar sensation down his own, almost like some lingering electricity, yet slightly different.

Somewhere in the corner of his mind he realizes that he hasn't touched another human being for months. Not since extricating that worm from the kid's ear.

His fingers with their raw tips work surprisingly efficiently at getting the Inhuman out of his restraints now, and soon, Grant finds himself helping the other man off the gurney and onto his feet.

Lincoln falls heavily against him, unable to control it, his body too weak and abused to stand without help, and Ward makes a face as his own battered body tries to keep up with the added weight.

Old Ward might have left the kid behind. He can feel it like a forbidden urge still inside of him. But it's not strong enough to surface, and besides, he won't allow it to overcome him again. Not this time.

The kid will get out of here with him, or they both won't make it. Maybe it's his way of paying off some of his past debts, though it's arguable that it'll influence the balance enough to tip the scales.

Redemption for Grant Ward? He almost chuckles at the thought.

Not gonna happen.

"Come on, kid," he eventually whispers against Lincoln's ear. Then he pulls the younger one's arm over his shoulders and walks them both closer to the large sliding door on the other side of the room, so damn far from the examining stations that he grimaces.

They'll have to try and make it through there and then out of the hallway in less than four minutes.

"Leave me here," Lincoln suddenly breathes, as if he can sense Grant's thoughts. The kid's weight is heavy against his exhausted body, but he manages to pull him up a little higher anyways, shaking his head briefly as he does.

"No," he presses out between gritted teeth, barely hearing Lincoln's weak protests.

"I'll slow you down, I can…" His voice ebbs away, and Grant decides not to use up more energy to convince his companion with more words, instead simply pulling him further, until they reach the doors. He fumbles with a few buttons before a loud whoosh makes him flinch as the doors open wide, presenting the wide white glaring hallway that awaits them now.

"We gotta look for an opening to the vents or a door to a staircase. I heard them say something about this being an underground facility," Ward muses, dragging Campbell on, but he doesn't actually count on the kid helping him.

Lincoln is right. Grant would have a better chance on his own. But.

Yeah, but what exactly? He hasn't even been this nice to Fitz, and there was a time when he had felt like the smartest kid he knew on this planet was something like a little brother to him.

He scoffs at himself. Part of him is almost annoyed at the fact that life after Hive has made him so… soft.

On the other hand…

"I can't…" Lincoln is heaving, looking up at him miserably, and Grant comes out of his thoughts with a jolt.

"I don't think Skye… _Daisy_ ," he corrects himself with a grin, "has ever gone for the weak and meek type. So you better pull yourself together, or you won't even get a chance with her if we do make it out of here."

He gives the other man a stern look, almost slipping into a smile when he sees the scowl on Lincoln's features, before he can feel the guy actively force himself to keep going. Good, he thinks, his little pep talk worked.

They hobble into the hallway, searching wild eyed for a way to hide, and when Ward eventually sees a small vent to the right, he breathes a small breath of relief. Thankfully, the cover opens easily and noiselessly. A little bit of much needed luck after all they've been through.

He shoves Lincoln forward first, helping him into the narrow vent, then follows quickly after, and just in time because right as he is trying to put the cover back in place, they both hear noises coming closer.

Their captors are on their way back. Soon, they'll know that he and Lincoln escaped, and they'll come looking for them. His hands holding the cover freeze. He is completely unaware that he is shaking, until he feels the other man's gentle touch on his shoulder, hears a soft whispered, "Hey…"

He whips his head around to look at Lincoln for a second, then manages to pull himself together and closes the vent.

Go, he mouthes, following quickly after as the other man leads the way, crawling through the dark vents with no idea where they're even headed.

Hopefully out. One thing is certain, at the end of this trip they'll either find a way out of this maze, or death.

Both options are better than staying. Anything is better than that.

* * *

…

* * *

…

They are gone. The subjects managed to escape their confinement but they can't have gotten far.

This is not good. They've made so much progress. They were almost ready to activate the symbiotic components they implanted, carefully crafted for their new task, and now…

If they don't hurry, if they don't catch them before the subjects reach the top, it could be over before it has really begun.

No, not over. Delayed, however. And delayed is bad enough…

* * *

…

* * *

…

Daisy smiles at Coulson, at May, Mack, Yo-Yo, Jemma and Fitz, allowing herself to finally feel at home again.

Fitz was angry with her, understandably so, but he got over it quickly. And Jemma, Jemma understands.

After they all got out of the Framework, Jemma is the one to understand Daisy's awkward all over the place feelings, for a Ward-that-could-have-been, for a Lincoln she wanted so bad to be resurrected, but chose not to. For possibilities taken away from her.

Loneliness has been her constant companion ever since she was little, and sometimes it's hard to remember that she doesn't have to be alone anymore.

"Grief doesn't go away, Daisy," Jemma was wisely telling her once, after it all, smiling at her sadly, and she was glad to feel her friend's hand on her own, gripping it reassuringly. "It doesn't ever fully heal. It will scab over, however, the pain will become more manageable, sometimes almost forgotten. Until you pick at it again, and the scab comes off in places, bringing back the pain."

Daisy tries to smile at her friend. The words sound wise and true, oh so true. Her grief is still strong, though, the scab too thin. There was a time when she thought she'd never find a good guy, one that is true to her and doesn't betray her trust.

Then she found Lincoln, someone who understood her, who was Inhuman like her, who was honest, kind. He had his faults and dark past, he wasn't perfect, either, but he never betrayed her. He told her he loved her, and she never got to say it back, never got to say goodbye either, before she lost him.

Screw grief, she thinks now, shaking her head to get strands of her dark hair out of her face, and she tries to smile at Coulson once more.

"So, what's with that alien residue you found?"

Phil nods, smiling a sad kind of smile, a worried smile. In turn, Daisy feels herself stiffen, a frown creasing her brow. If Coulson is worried, it's never a good sign. "We got alerted to it after the… wreck got detected in the ocean."

The wreck. Daisy knows what he means.

It's a bit unlike Coulson to be so vague about it, but she doesn't mind. Nodding, she places her elbow on the table, her hand on her chin, holding her head upright like that.

"Okay. So…?"

Phil swallows. His lips form a thin line as he sighs through his nose. "There's something you should probably see…"

…

When she stands in front of it, she doesn't know what to think. The wreck is not a wreck at all, but almost looks intact.

It can't be. They all saw the explosion, the ball of fire expanding silently into the width of the universe. She saw it, dammit. She saw it.

"What the hell, Coulson?! What does that even mean?! Is Hive…" She feels her voice begin to shake alongside her limbs. Coulson gently touches her shoulder, pulls her closer. She wants to fight it, and yet she craves it: his soothing touch.

This can't be.

"We don't know anything for certain. But after a first scan, FitzSimmons believe that they might have made it out of there alive…"

The monster might not be dead yet. And her boyfriend…?

* * *

…

* * *

…

The vents are so narrow that Lincoln has to fight a growing sense of claustrophobia. He can't die in these freaking things, caged in between walls of cool metal, with only Grant Ward for company.

Could be worse, though, could be Hive. In fact, if he's being honest, he has grown to like the man, almost like a big brother. He's been kind to him, he's watched out for him...

...

When they reach yet another sort of intersection, where the vents widen in such a way that they can sit up for a moment, he lets himself slump against one of the sides, trying to catch his breath. His arms feel like they are on fire, the incisions burning as if they are tinged with acid or poison or god knows what. His whole body is sore, and he doesn't think he will last for much longer.

"I'm done."

He doesn't have the energy to say anything else, doesn't even care that Ward looks at him with what seems to be contempt or disappointment.

"You can't give up now. We have to keep going," the older man says quietly, and even though his tone was level and not hostile at all, Lincoln feels the urge to defend himself, to lash out.

"I can't, okay?! You're right. I'm not good enough for her. I'm not good enough... She deserves so much more, Daisy... And I..." His voice breaks. "I can't fight anymore. I want to, but I… I just can't…" To his horror, he starts sobbing. He hasn't really cried much during their ordeal, in all these months, but now he's breaking down? Feeling Grant Ward's dark eyes trained on him, he averts his face and tries to bury it in his hands, tries to pull himself together and fails.

He doesn't know when exactly it happens, or how, but at some point he ends up with his face pressed against Ward's shoulder, the older man's arms gently wrapped around him. There is no ridicule, no shaming, just unadulterated compassion in Grant's gesture, and eventually, Lincoln quiets down again.

* * *

...

It takes a while before they continue on their arduous uncertain journey, Ward now taking the lead. He gives Lincoln an almost cajoling look and one more pat on the back, but aside from that he doesn't acknowledge the breakdown anymore, and Lincoln is grateful for that.

He suspects that the man gave him an extra hour or so of rest afterward and he is thankful for that, too, even though an hour is nowhere near enough time for either of them to recuperate. But they have to keep going if they want to have a chance, they'll have to function a little while longer.

And they do.

...

The vents seem to be a never ending labyrinth for the longest time. The only hint they have that they might be getting somewhere is the fact that it keeps going slightly upward. As if they're climbing up a hill. Lincoln feels his body grow tired and his mind going numb. He keeps going anyways, almost automatically, until suddenly, Grant holds up a hand in a silencing gesture, then points over to where their path narrows even more.

Lincoln stops and squints at him in disappointment, but his companion shakes his head, then points again. His eyes are gleaming strangely in the dark. Excitement is written in them, and promise.

Lincoln tries to see what the other man is seeing. Crawling even closer, his wrists ready to give out, his arms shaking with the effort, he eventually sees it, too: a strange light seeping in from somewhere, reddish, pulsating.

They found the exit.

Before he has time to say anything, wonder aloud what will await them out there, whether it's safe, Ward is already almost at the red lighting, and Lincoln tries hurrying after him as quick as possible, which is not very fast at all.

By the time he makes it, Ward is looking back at him from the other side of the now open cover, triumph written on his features as he peeks back into the tunnel of the vents.

"Come on," he whispers, "you need to see this." He extends a hand, then pulls Lincoln out the last few feet and what he sees next, makes him stare in awe. He almost forgets to breathe until Grant's hand lands on his shoulder with a bit too much force and he almost buckles under it, before the man pulls him into an unexpected hug.

"We're going home, kid. We are going home…"


	6. Going home

…

A vast field lies ahead of them. It looks almost like an airport at night time, except that the night here is even darker than usual, and all the lights shine with a strange red intensity.

That there are what seem to be sleek black spaceships rather than airplanes only aid in the assumption that this, then, is the aliens' port to the world.

A massive clear dome spans across the vast place, keeping a breathable atmosphere contained, a fact that makes Grant Ward breathe a sigh of relief.

Life has not exactly been easy in the last few months (hell, make that years. Life has never been easy for him…). So it is a nice surprise that things are finally working in his favor for once.

First he and Lincoln both make it out of the place in one piece, and now they even find the one spot on this godforsaken planet that will get them home.

He is still staring up into space, mesmerized at the stars above him, when he eventually pulls himself out of his thoughts and forces himself to focus again.

This is not over yet. They're not safe. Quickly, he turns around to check on Campbell, who is slowly walking closer to him, staggering and limping with each step he takes.

Ward watches as the kid closes his eyes, swaying a little, probably getting used to the feeling of the cut soles of his feet against the hard ground. He can relate, his own poor feet are burning with the same pain. But there is no time to allow that sensation to slow them down.

"Come on," he cajoles, briskly stepping over to the other man and helping him walk onto the large field in front of them. It probably looks a bit funny to an outsider, how they're more hobbling than anything, but clearly in a hurry.

Above them, the red lights are blinking, glaringly so, and Grant can only hope that no one pays any attention to the two small broken figures stumbling onto the airfield. Any minute now, he thinks, there'll be a blaring alarm and their captors will be onto them in seconds after that. He needs to guide them over to one of the smaller space crafts before that happens.

"I can't walk anymore," Lincoln pipes up, his voice barely above a whisper, but Grant ignores him, _has_ to ignore him. He quickly scans his surroundings, assessing the situation. There's a smaller spaceship to the very side that he sets his eyes on almost immediately. It's far enough away that it won't draw too much attention if they try and board it. Also, it's so small that any crew still aboard should only consist of a few core people. Anything beyond that and they won't be able to take them on.

Fighting anyone will pretty much be futile in their current state, so he hopes they won't actually have to face any enemy aliens at all, at least not anytime soon.

He turns to face his companion and gives him a very stern look. The kid's jaw muscles are moving as he listens to Grant speak, something working in his mind.

"We'll get out of here, okay? Just need to get on one of these ships. - The one on the left." He is not pointing directly, just subtly nodding his head in the direction of the vessel. "We need to make a dash for it; I'll be going first, but I need you to stay right behind me in case there's anyone on board. We need to be swift in order to take anyone out and figure out the flying mechanism. You any good with that kinda stuff?"

Lincoln nods in understanding first, then shakes his head no at the latter part.

Ward grimaces, although he hasn't expected anything else. "No worries. I got my fair share of lessons from May." A small grin appears on his face at the memory before he turns earnest once more. "Alright. Any questions?"

"Ward, I…" Lincoln pauses, going over whatever he wants to say, but Grant already knows it.

"Not leaving you behind, kid, so you better pull yourself together and get a move on if you don't want to ruin both our chances at escape. - You with me here?"

Lincoln hisses in air, then nods briefly. It's obvious to both of them that he wanted to back out and give up, that he wanted to stay behind, maybe even help giving Ward a fighting chance by creating some distraction down here, then blowing himself to smithereens. But it won't be happening like that now.

Whatever does happen, it'll be the two of them together against the aliens. Either they'll both die, or they'll make it. It has been their plan for a long time, and Grant is not allowing his companion to back out at the last minute.

What would Skye say if he showed up and didn't bring her boyfriend back with him? What would they all think if he came back and Campbell didn't?

They'd most likely think he used the kid for his own good, then killed him to save himself. Old Ward would have done it. Part of him is still trying to talk himself into doing it. But he has changed profoundly, even if he doesn't understand why or how, and this new version of Grant Ward, even with all the nasty baggage from the past, is not willing to add anymore gruesomeness to his rap sheet.

Besides, he can honestly say that Lincoln Campbell will probably be the only person that does care whether he lives or dies now, and he won't give that up.

He won't give up on the kid.

* * *

…

Lincoln doesn't know how they even make it, but they do. After they finally figure out the lock mechanism of the spaceship and rush inside to check the small machine for any signs of life, he feels ready to collapse on the ground, his feet burning, his arms feeling heavy with a searing pain, his mind muffled and foggy, and his insides feeling like mush.

But they are not done yet.

They got lucky. Other than one surprised alien that they managed to overpower quickly, the spaceship is completely deserted. Using its own weapon against it, Ward shoves the alien into the tight looking cockpit, waving his arm to indicate the instruments in front of them.

"You'll help us fly this thing," he informs the creature, who seems to have no clue who they are, or what they are, and why they are even here. Probably just a mechanic. Lincoln shakes his head. Maybe he should pity this alien, but he doesn't. It looks exactly like the others, like the ones that tortured him and Ward for hours upon hours, although this one doesn't wear its human suit.

"Let's throw him out and get on our way," he rasps, his voice sounding so hoarse as if he has just begun to get over a bad case of laryngitis. (Which could very well be the case…)

Ward squints, then shakes his head no. "We can use him. If not for the flying, then at least as leverage. Or to show earth what the next big threat to humanity looks like. No one will believe a word of our story otherwise." He chuckles, a throaty sound without a trace of humor. "Come on, kid, strap in. We're leaving."

Lincoln exhales slowly, but doesn't argue. He's too exhausted. And frankly, what is there to argue? Ward is probably right. If they really make it (and for the first time in forever he actually feels a bit hopeful again that they will), no one will believe them. Not a word.

That day he went into space to save the world (and Daisy. To save Daisy above all…) by blowing up Hive and himself seems like it happened aeons ago. More than a lifetime. Maybe Lincoln did die back then; this new version of him surely does only feel like a shadow of his former self. He feels hollow at best, filled with pain and an unspeakable darkness at worst, and part of him almost wonders whether it would be better for everyone involved if they never do make it back.

What will Daisy say? What will she think of him? What about Coulson and the team? Will they want to lock him up, examine him? Leave him to die in a containment chamber? Will they consider him a threat, or fraud, or just a sad crazy lunatic?

And how is he going to explain to them that they can't kill Grant Ward? That the man has changed, that he thinks Grant deserves another chance, and that Lincoln will fight whoever won't give it to him? How is he even going to explain that to himself? Or Daisy? She hates that man… But she loved him once, and that, too, makes Lincoln feel strangely uneasy. Things are freaking complicated, when they really shouldn't be. All he wants is to get the hell out of dodge, and for this nightmare to finally end.

That is the thing with dreams, however, sometimes waking up after a nightmare means that the terror still lingers, seeps into every corner of life, and informs your decisions. Waking up doesn't always end the horror. Plus, eventually, you'll always have to go back to sleep…

"Kid? Lincoln!"

He swallows, coming out of his dark spiraling thoughts when he hears Ward's distant seeming voice. Looking over to where the man is sitting strapped in, next to the alien, Grant motions for Lincoln to sit down and fasten his seatbelt too.

"Time to move!" the man yells over what seems to be the roaring of an engine that Lincoln hasn't noticed until now.

It's happening. It's really happening. They are off.

"We don't even have any freaking idea where we are!" he shouts back over the noise, but Ward merely shrugs at him.

"Anything is better than what we're leaving behind," he simply states, and Lincoln's lips form a thin, yet determined line before he nods briefly. The older man is right, of course. Nothing can be as bad as what they are leaving down there on the ground underneath them, their own personal hell.

Time to go home.

Lincoln feels his throat close at the thought, an almost panic rising in him that only gets washed away when their spaceship makes a sudden jolt as it heads into what can only be FTL speed.

With a woosh they're off, Grant grinning at Lincoln briefly before he directs his gaze out the window and all Lincoln can wonder about are all the stars and the deep darkness out there.

And the one inside of him.

Will they finally get a chance to heal? Is there healing after what they've been through? He is about to find out.


	7. Back

…

They don't get much rest on their journey home, but at least there's no one there to come and get them and tear them to pieces and interrogate them and prod their minds.

It is as close to peace and quiet as they've come in a very long time, yet Ward can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

He can't sleep and he can't eat. But there's not much to eat to begin with, so that latter part is kind of convenient. It's not exactly like they had time to plan their trip. They couldn't pack any provisions. All that is keeping them from starving is eating small morsels of some strange paste the alien has stored in a pouch.

They're sharing the mush, rationing it between the three of them as best as they can, and Grant tries to tell himself that it's mashed potatoes like his grandma used to make, nice and soft, with loads of butter and a dash of salt.

He can almost taste it, can almost see her face. But then the image blurs, and the paste sticks to the roof of his mouth like tasteless peanut butter, robbing him of all illusions, and all he has left for company are bad memories of his family and Lincoln Campbell's sad expression that oscillates between looking vacant and broken.

He grimaces. They make quite the pair. Both with their own demons, both with a connection to SHIELD, both with the same traumatic experiences after what should have been death. After life.

What awaits them now? How will they adjust back to life on earth? Will Grant even get a chance? He's still that Grant Ward; he didn't exactly make any friends in his first lifetime, but a good number of enemies to make up for that, first and foremost among them of course SHIELD's very own Phil Coulson.

The man will probably have a heart attack when he sees Grant is alive. A chuckle escapes him as the image of a slightly slack jawed dumbfounded Coulson appears in his mind, and he is almost looking forward to seeing the man again.

Almost.

How everyone will deal with Ward's return will probably stand and fall with Phil Coulson. If the SHIELD director will allow him to live and explain himself, then there's a chance for him. Admittedly, even this new and improved Ward is still not a fan of the man, and he hates to think he relies on Coulson to pardon him. Trying to be a better person would be so much easier without SHIELD in the picture. Without Coulson and May, and all these people that never gave him another chance, that always viewed him as—

No. He has to break off there. It's not leading anywhere and if he's being honest (and he can be that now, it doesn't matter anymore) he _was_ an asshole, there's no sugar coating that. And he can't blame these people for how they dealt with him.

The thing is… While he wants a second chance, a real chance at redemption with such a strange despairing desire, he doesn't want _them_ to give him one. He doesn't want them to be all gracious and aloof and allow him a shot at redemption.

Or, not all of them.

The face of Leo Fitz appears in front of his inner eye quite unbidden, Jemma Simmons happily standing right next to him, and Ward's heart begins to ache with a different kind of pain than what he's gotten used to lately. Yet it's just as bad.

What he did to them…

He shakes his head, blinking rapidly a couple of time, noticing Lincoln giving him a curious glance. He tries to smile, but isn't sure it's working. His mind has already gone elsewhere.

Skye… Sweet smart and cocky Skye. He clenches his jaw and tries hard to focus on something else.

Because he knows that the people he cares most about, these few faces, they are the ones who will probably never give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn't deserve their forgiveness, he knows it, but he can't help but hope for it anyways.

He'll seal that hope away for now, because now is not the time to think about that. Any of it. Not yet.

* * *

...

They are in the middle of deep space, thinking - but not entirely sure - that they are on the right way, and time stretches to eternity. The presence of the alien isn't helping either. It complicates everything.

Grant is constantly wary. He's caught himself entertaining the thought of killing the alien on multiple occasions. But then their "evidence" would be gone, and they wouldn't have anyone to question later, to hold accountable. Like they can hold this _thing_ accountable. The weird being is a wobbly mess of weird shapes and tentacles and its leathery skin has started to become a little slimy lately, indicating that it's clearly in distress.

Maybe it'll do them a favor and start dying already…

Ward is checking the instruments once again, before he sits down next to Lincoln, slumped on the ground, because any seating the aliens have is impossible for them to sit in, and he finds himself trying his best to smile at the younger one.

"Hanging in there, kid?"

Lincoln shrugs. His arms balanced on his knees, he gives Ward a brief glance before he stares back down on the ground beneath him.

Ward is strangely worried about him. He has barely said anything ever since they made it out, barely even moved much, which is probably no wonder.

Their bodies are still sore and torture torn and with no medical equipment around, their sad attempts at trying to patch each other up haven't done much good.

He looks at his own inflamed feet, then inspects his bloodied fingertips before he looks over to Lincoln again. His naked torso is riddled with old and new cuts, incisions, some of them healed, some of them badly inflamed, but the worst, the worst are still his arms. Long trails snaking down from his shoulders to his palms, looking as raw and open as on the day they were grafted into his flesh, and Grant worries that it's Lincoln's very own charged state that is keeping the wounds from healing, or at the very least scabbing over a bit.

"Lincoln?" He doesn't even know why he won't let it go now, but he's adamant. He needs to hear the kid's voice. Another day without hearing it, and he might go insane.

"Come on, kid. Talk to me. I need to know you're hanging in there. We're… almost there. According to their navigation system it should only be another 24 hours or so. A day. And then you'll be back with Sk- with Daisy, and you two can play the happily ever after fairy tale couple." He pauses, nudging the younger one lightly, careful not to aggravate any of either of their injuries. Just the lightest shoulder bump, really, but he can't deny that the small physical contact feels good. Calming. Reassuring. Soothing.

Sometimes he wonders whether he needs this more than the Inhuman does: contact. Another live body to talk to. Knowing that he's not alone in this.

When Lincoln doesn't even give a scoff or eye roll at the fairy tale remark, Ward sighs loudly. Resignedly. "Hopefully dear Coulson won't shoot me on sight as soon as I set foot on earth," he says cynically, more to himself now than anything, and is surprised when this does get a reaction out of his companion.

"I won't let him."

Ward looks over to him again, cocking his head a little to try and see his face, but it's lying in the shadows and he can't make out the expression.

Lincoln's tone, though, while tired, is determined, almost fierce, and he can't help but smile a little.

Did Grant Ward really make a friend?

"Yeah," he muses, "thanks kid. I doubt he'll let you come between him and Revenge 2.0, though. I mean, you don't know the man as well as I do, but—"

"I know enough," Lincoln interrupts him, suddenly strangely heatedly, as he scrambles to his feet and pulls himself up to his full height. His jaw clenched hard, his nostrils flaring, he looks ready to fight, positively charged, Grant thinks, slightly grimacing at the involuntary pun. But it's true.

Lincoln is suddenly taking heaving breaths, his body tense, muscles taut as if he's getting ready for a fight. His hands in fists, he stand there, staring at Grant, and yet not quite looking him in the eyes, and an ominous feeling creeps up the older man's spine.

Slowly, he pushes his back against the wall to aid him in getting up, too, so that he can face his friend, and when he is finally standing tall, almost hunkering over the kid because of his stronger built, Lincoln tilts his head, energy surging under his clenched hands.

"I bet you do," he whispers softly, extending a hand to gently touch Lincoln's fingers, making him stagger back a little, suddenly wild-eyed and on edge.

"Hey," Grant soothes, "Easy now. I'm your friend, remember? Come on, kid. Why don't we sit down again before you pass out on me. You really don't look too great."

He's not lying. Lincoln's complexion has taken on an ashen tone, his frame slightly shaking, and Grant is genuinely worried that he might indeed just keel over any second. But thankfully he doesn't.

Allowing Ward to gently push him against the wall and down, Lincoln slumps back into a sitting position, all fight leaving him quicker than it came, and Grant is immensely relieved to see that he won't have to try and go up against him.

There is something so lost and broken about the kid, and he knows that it just mirrors what's going on inside of him, too. For some reason he is just better at keeping it together, keeping it hidden. Or so he thinks.

He's inclined to blame Coulson for all of this, but what good would it do? He can, however, blame the man for how he must have treated Lincoln Campbell if the kid is so agitated after hearing his name.

* * *

…

"I don't think I can do this," Lincoln mutters at some point, his breathing erratic and pained. They've been stuck on the space ship for however many hours or days, and he has had enough time to mull things over in his head.

He wants to go home, he really does. The thing is, he doesn't know where home is anymore, he doesn't know what the people will say. The only one he really had left down there was Daisy anyway, and she probably moved on a long time ago.

He can't do this anymore. No one will be waiting for him, other than the nightmares, the bad memories weighing him down and waking him up, soaked in sweat and trembling. He just wants it all to go away.

...

"No!"

He looks up, completely startled, squinting slightly against the dim light coming from the cockpit, to see Ward holding his wrists in a tight grip.

"Geez, kid! You alright? Do not do this. You freaking scared the crap out of me."

He doesn't understand. It's as if his brain doesn't want to process what's going on and he looks at Grant with a bewildered expression, tugging lightly at his arms to get the other man to let his arms go. But he doesn't.

"Let me go."

Grant shakes his head. "Not until you promise me you won't do that again."

There's an awkward silence in which they both just stare at each other. For a long time nothing happens. Then, Lincoln looks from Ward's dark and angry - no, sad - eyes to where he grips Lincoln's arms. Electricity is still quietly crackling in his palms, and he finally notices the burning pain in his temples. Where he had just put his hands minutes before, to…

To do what? Kill himself?

"I…" He tries to speak, but he can't find any words. Looking at Grant again as if this man, former Hydra, former Hive has all the answers to what he doesn't even dare ask.

"I'm just… you should have left me there. I'm too broken. I'm. Done." He feels himself break down, again. But he can't stop it. His shoulders sink, the grip on his wrists slowly loosening as he slumps down even more. He lifts up his hands to cover his face, to hide perhaps, or disappear, it doesn't matter anymore.

He's a mess, he's broken, he's always scared, always in pain, and this can't go on.

...

He doesn't know when exactly it happens, but when his senses come back, he finds himself leaning against Ward, the older man holding him tight, just holding him. Like he did once before, back in the vents.

Another few minutes or hours pass, and Grant slowly raises himself up a little, helping Lincoln to sit up straighter, too. He's inspecting the damage done to Lincoln's temples and grimaces slightly.

"Did a number on yourself there, kid. Don't try that again, okay?"

Lincoln chuckles humorlessly, but doesn't say anything in reply. Grant smiles at him gently, and he feels so awkward under the surprising kindness that he doesn't know where to look but down on the ground. He can't hide up here, he knows it, and besides, there's now really nothing Grant Ward hasn't seen of him, and still he can't face the man.

"It will be okay, kid. You'll see. They'll be there for you." Ward licks his lips, suddenly looking strangely wistful. "Daisy-"

"She'll have moved on. Can't blame her, either. I kinda wanted to leave everything behind anyway. At least before…" He trails off, but Ward nods, understanding.

"You don't know her as well as I do," he then whispers, and somehow, the statement riles Lincoln.

"Will you stop?!"

"What?" Grant smirks.

"Don't pretend like you know everyone better than I do! It's condescending and it's not true. You've been gone and out of their lives for a while now, so—"

Grant raises his hands in surrender, smirk still in place. "Okay, okay. You got me there. Can I finish now?"

Lincoln glowers like a teenager, eyes downcast, but eventually he nods, rubbing a weary hand across his face as Ward resumes talking.

"Daisy will come for you. Trust me. And besides, you were a member of their team-"

"Not really."

Grant ignores him. "You were a member of their team. May probably gave you the talk, Fitz and Simmons adopted you as soon as they knew you were a doctor… These people, Lincoln, if they let you in their lives and hearts, they mean it. They don't run away. Don't mess it up—"

"Like you did? By betraying them? Torturing them? Trying to kill them?" Lincoln spits the words out with venom, but Ward only mildly stares at him, nodding wearily.

"Exactly. Don't be me. I don't have apologies for my behavior. I could… but I'm not going to, because it's not the point. The point is that I finally see my mistakes and I want to do better. If they'll give me a chance. I need you, Lincoln." Grant bites down hard at the admission, not looking at Lincoln, who shoots him a suspicious glance.

Sometimes he still can't quite read Grant Ward, or this new improved version.

"You gave me a chance, kid. You helped me become a better person, and I need you to help me show the others that I deserve another chance. Besides: someone who is willing to kill himself off for the greater good of humanity definitely needs to be around for humanity. Come on, kid. We can fix this. Let me help you. Let _them_ …"

...

Lincoln stares at him unreadably. He doesn't say anything, but eventually he nods a small nod, and Ward feels strangely relieved. Good. He briefly hugs the kid again, then slowly gets up.

"Come on," he cajoles, unwilling to leave him out of his sight, "let's see how much of that mash is left. I could use a few calories…"

* * *

...

* * *

…

When the door finally opens again with a woosh, their space journey has finally found an end.

A team of dark clad soldiers of some special force or other is already waiting. Maybe they're even SHIELD.

...

They are _definitely_ SHIELD.

Of course... Grant Ward shakes his head, an uneasy smile flickering across his face as he slowly raises both arms to step forward.

"Freeze," someone says. "Don't move."

He hears hushed voices, probably someone recognizing him, connecting dots, and he decides it's best to heed their warnings and stop where he is standing.

With a light move of the head he looks over to where Lincoln emerges out of the shadows of the ship, an alien gun trained on their alien hostage, and a grim expression on his face.

"Anyone here give Coulson a call yet? He might want to see this," Ward jovially mentions, his arms growing heavy in the air and he jerks his head a little, then continues, "Mind if I lower my arms? Getting a bit tiring, and I promise I'm not much of a threat these days."

Of course nobody cares what he says. Before he has a chance to say anything else, someone brings out an ICER and the next thing he knows, he has to duck away, hiding inside the spaceship, staring at the alien that is slowly dissolving in the corner.

The thing hasn't made it, either. This isn't going too well.

He is still staring at the mass on the ground, when he feels Lincoln approaching fast, then shielding him from a team of soldiers that is storming toward them.

…

"What the hell?!" Lincoln yells, although he should have probably seen this coming. Of course seeing Grant Ward resurrected from certain death would aggravate anyone down here on earth.

None of these people know what he knows. None of them were there to see that Hive is gone and Ward pretty much a completely different person. None of them were there to witness the torture or Ward's many attempts at saving Lincoln's life.

"Stop!" he yells again, shielding Ward with his own body as best as he can. He's surprised no one has shot him with an ICER yet, although he's almost certain it will happen any second now.

"Freeze," someone orders again.

"Get Coulson here," orders Lincoln in return. "And Daisy Johnson."

He glares at the nearest soldier, waiting for a reaction, and when he finally sees a frown pass the man's face, he tries hard not to blink.

"You're Campbell."

"Yeah. Do I know you?"

The man shakes his head. "No," he begins, then suddenly blasts off his ICER, surprising Lincoln, who gives him an incredulous angry look before collapsing. "But we all know _you_. — I'm sorry…"


	8. Reunion

…

When Phil Coulson gets the report, he sighs deeply. Rubbing an absent hand over his prosthetic limb, his mind tries to grasp the impact the information will have.

Grant Ward is alive.

Lincoln Campbell is alive, too.

The villain and the hero.

He listlessly shuffles through some papers on the desk in front of him, trying to keep himself busy. No. Stalling. He is stalling and he knows it. His presence is needed. He needs to go down to where they brought the two - make that three, there's a strange half dead alien with the two others after all - into containment chambers, down where the newly rebuilt playground is.

Forcing himself up, he walks toward his door, determinedly now, thinking of Daisy as he does. Someone has to tell her about this, and it can't be anyone but him.

He sighs again, this time a little more wearily. She had only just begun to come around again. Working with them again. Fitz had finally forgiven her for leaving, she was bantering with Mack again, sparring with May, going on missions.

Eating pancakes at the diner with him.

Coulson doesn't want her to break all over again. She deserves some peace and quiet, but he knows that more than anything, she will want to know about Lincoln, about Ward, too, and he can't keep their return from her if he doesn't want to jeopardize his own relationship with her.

No. It needs to be him.

* * *

…

A chuckle breaks the silence in the hallway. He has almost made his way over to the lab, where FitzSimmons are supposed to be working on finding out what that bluish gel-like mass is they found on their latest mission, when he hears the sound, as light as day. Soon, the chuckle turns into full blown laughter and he feels a pang knowing that he'll probably switch the sound off with his news.

Sure enough, the moment he enters the room, everyone turns toward him, smiles still on their faces, but no more laughter. Fitz looks amused, when he catches something in Coulson's face, and his smile freezes and he squints at the director.

"Uh, the… tests are not completed yet, Sir" he says, even though he can sense that Phil is not here for any reports.

"Sir?" Simmons questions, but it's Daisy he focuses on. Her eyes are wide as she frowns at him.

"Coulson, what is it? You'd think you've seen an alien or a ghost or something - if we didn't know that that wouldn't phase you." She tries to joke but it falls strangely flat. Something is not right. "Coulson?"

"Daisy…" He doesn't quite know how best to say this, so he decides to go with the direct approach. Shooting poor FitzSimmons a glance, too, he gently puts a hand on Daisy's arm, making her frown deepen. They're not exactly touchy-feely normally and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know something is up.

"Okay, Coulson, now you're scaring me. What's going on? Shoot. Is it zombies? Are the dead walking the earth or something?"

"Something like that," Phil mumbles, then clears his throat when he hears Fitz start explaining that zombies simply couldn't and don't exist. He raises a hand, shushing the younger man, never taking his eyes off his surrogate daughter of sorts. "Lincoln and Ward just returned. On an alien spaceship."

"What?!" Daisy breaks into a loud laugh, patting Phil's arm. She throws back her head, hair flying, then looks over to her team mates - her friends. "Did you hear that?" she asks them, before turning back to face Coulson. "You had me there for a moment," she informs him, laughter turning into a smaller chuckle, but clearly still amused.

...

Until she sees his serious expression. His way too serious eyes. The line that is his mouth.

"You are not…" _joking_ , she probably wants to say, but can't even finish her sentence.

Lincoln is alive?

And Ward?

"Excuse me, Sir, did you just say… did I hear that correctly? Are you saying that Grant Ward and Lincoln Campbell are both… back here on earth. Alive?" Simmons stares at him, her eyes almost bugging out of her head. There's a sudden build-up of tension in her body, mirrored by Leo Fitz's reaction. The two scientists look positively shocked. Daisy, though, she looks miles away…

"Ward? Not Hive?" Fitz asks as Simmons fidgets next to him, his arm coming around her shoulder protectively.

"It seems like it, yes."

"Where is he?" Daisy's voice sounds hoarse, urgent. For just a second Coulson is confused who she is referring to, before she repeats, "Where is Lincoln. I want to see him."

"Daisy."

"Coulson, where?"

He sighs. There's no use for discussions. Not with her. So he gives in. He nods, almost resignedly, then waves a hand in a "follow me" gesture.

They're already both walking, him leading the way, when Fitz pipes up behind them.

"Are they _here_? Is… is Ward—" There's incredulity in his tone, and something else. Shock perhaps, or doom. But Coulson cuts him off with a quick, "Not now, Fitz," then walks Daisy to where she desperately wants to go.

* * *

…

It can't be true. Her life had felt so shattered when she had realized - too late, way too late - that she did love Lincoln. She didn't have a chance to say it back because… because he frigging exploded into a million tiny pieces, soundlessly, up there in space above her.

And now she is supposed to believe that somehow he made it out of there alive after all? That he is here? So close?

"Confinement chamber," Coulson whispers calmly, taking her by the shoulder to steer her in the direction, or maybe to steady her, she isn't so sure now. She only knows that she feels almost faint, nauseous, not a trace left of her usual toughness.

She's back to being that broken girl that she didn't want to be anymore. That girl she had finally left behind fighting side by side with Robby, and then… when she went back to SHIELD…

He's alive…

And not just him, either. She wants to ask Coulson so many questions. She tries to. But he tells her "later," every time.

"What happened?"

"Did they just appear out of freaking nowhere?"

"How? How, Coulson? This isn't possible. Are you sure it's him? Them?"

"Is he okay? Is he… What about Ward? Are you sure he's not Hive anymore?"

It's that question the man eventually graces with a reply, and she can't help but notice a significance in that. Just what that significance is, she doesn't know.

"Hive is gone. We've had a team examine him and Lincoln. May was overseeing everything. There is no doubt."

"But… How is that even possible? And what 'team?' Coulson. This is _our_ business. Lincoln is _our_ team member. And Ward… _We_ should have dealt with them."

"We will, Daisy."

She huffs out, angry now. Angry at who or what, she can't say. Just angry. At the world perhaps. What a cruel cruel joke.

All she wants now is to wrap her arms around Lincoln and—

What if he's broken somehow?

Suddenly, she stops in her tracks, pulling lightly at Coulson, making him turn around to look at her. His features soften, there's a small smile playing across his face, and it makes the sudden shaking of her body quiet down a bit.

"I know," he breathes. Just that. "I know." He gently pulls her closer, until he can wrap her in his arms, her face coming to rest against his shoulder. She barely notices that she's crying, and when she does, she can't stop.

"You need to know something."

His words make her tense. Carefully, she pushes herself off him, staring into his warm, concerned eyes.

"Tell me." He doesn't need to spare her or coddle her or put her in bubble wrap. She can take it. She needs to hear it, needs to know the truth.

Coulson sighs. "It appears that they have been subjected to extensive…" He clicks his tongue, pausing for just a half second before softly saying the terrible word, "torture. From what we could gather so far, they've been held captive by a previously unknown alien species. And they are obviously - understandably - distraught about being confined yet again."

Daisy presses her lips together, swallowing hard.

"Okay," she says, because she doesn't know what to say or think or do. She remembers finding Lincoln when Hydra had tortured him. Flashes of the incision in his side, of his heart not beating appear in front of her eyes. His panic when he woke back up...

"It's not okay." Coulson smiles sadly when he says it. Giving her one last squeeze, he urges her on. "Come on, let's get you to him. Hopefully a friendly face will help him…"

Oh god, she thinks, how bad is it?

* * *

…

"Let us out!" he yells, for what seems like the thousandth time, his voice already hoarse, his throat sore and achy. Behind him, Ward sits on the nice white bed with its fluffy blanket and pillows and grins over at him. He can see the man's reflection in the window pane he is currently slamming his fists against.

"Take a break, kid. Sit down. They won't do it. Definitely not when you keep screaming at them like a lunatic."

Ward has the audacity to chuckle, and Lincoln whirls around to face him, an anger in him that quickly dissipates when he notices how weary Grant actually looks. Which, of course, is just a mirror of his own appearance.

With a sigh, he gingerly shuffles over to the small white couch on the other side of the confinement unit, making an upset face as he flops down on it.

"Why are they keeping us locked up in here?" he asks, although of course he knows why. They should be dead. They could be a danger. He can't really blame them, not objectively. And yet he does.

He woke up in here, with Ward already sitting up beside him, as if watching over him.

Someone had come and patched them up. Their feet are thickly bandaged. There is a patch above their ears, multiple bandages and patches on the rest of his body, and surely on Ward's too. They are wearing clean clothes again, too, something way more comfortable than the scrub like garments they had been made to wear by their tormentors. But they're locked up. They are not free...

"Coulson is thorough," Grant casually explains, "You can't blame him. I mean, _I_ can't. You… probably could. But me… I wasn't a good man when I last interacted with him. He has all the reasons to hate me, so…"

Lincoln hisses in air as he shifts his position. He is still in pain, but overall his body hurts less. They might have given him something for it. But he still feels too alert, too on edge, too tense, too sore to forget what happened. What they've been through.

"You okay?" Ward looks worried, but Lincoln shrugs it off with a scoff.

"The hell I am. If I have to spend one more freaking day locked up like a freaking—"

"Easy, easy."

...

Ward chuckles again, genuinely amused to suddenly hear his cellmate swear so much. Hell, even talk so much. It's actually kind of refreshing. And it eases his mind a little bit.

He was worried about the kid. Lincoln barely said anything when they were still in that godforsaken place, he talked even less on their way back to earth, until Grant had started to wonder whether the kid was just broken beyond repair, too far gone, too tortured to stay with him in the here and now.

But Lincoln Campbell's fighting spirit isn't dead, yet. And that gives Ward hope.

Which is peculiar, really. Like the whole thing is peculiar, their entire strange relationship, built from similar experiences, despair, loneliness. Lincoln has become a brother in misery a long time ago, but now, it feels like he truly is a real brother. Someone to care about deeply, someone he wishes to see happy and healthy and whole, someone he would give his life for.

The realization hits him hard.

Briefly, flashes of his actual, his biological family appear in front of his inner eye. Thomas, the kid he wanted to do everything for. Christian. His parents…

He grimaces to himself, shaking away the memories just as he hears Lincoln's concerned voice call his name, and then…

"Skye?"

Out of the corner of his eye he sees his cellmate turn around where he was just sitting, slouching back, sees his face contort into a pained grimace of… love, loss, and a too deep ache, and Grant wants to go and pat him on the arm, encourage him to go up to the window to talk to her, but of course he doesn't have to.

The kid is already on his way there, more hobbling than walking now, his gait all awkward and slow, the name "Daisy" on his lips, but so quiet the girl probably can't hear it. Ward can tell that she is bewildered to see them both together, her boyfriend and her crazy evil ex, and he half smiles to himself at the thought, looking down on his legs, half hiding his expression behind one hand, before he sees Coulson appear beside her.

He tries to sit up more erect, facing the man, saying his name softly.

"Coulson…"

Lincoln shoots him a glance. He looks unsure, frozen on the spot, not quite at the window, but far from the couch, and Ward is looking from him to Coulson and back.

Skye, or Daisy he should say, because everyone says Daisy these days, has a hand placed against the window pane in that cliché gesture, surely waiting for her boyfriend to put his over hers. But Lincoln's chest is heaving, his face lost and forlorn, and Grant suddenly realizes he needs to get up and go over to the kid before Lincoln manages to hyperventilate himself unconscious.

Daisy looks concerned, she is yelling something at Coulson, that fearless leader, that Ward can't hear because the comms are not on, which is probably just as well.

"Lincoln?" He walks toward the younger man, slowly, his feet searing with the strain, but he tries his best not to show them a weakness. It's ingrained, he can't do anything about it, not even as "New Ward." This is still him, a fighter, someone who doesn't like to show weakness. "Thought you had waited for this moment," he casually remarks, walking ever closer, half amused to see Daisy growing frantic out there.

She is yelling and gesticulating at Coulson, then tries to enter the confinement chamber. She probably thinks he is about to attack her boy toy and in all honesty, Ward can't even blame her. All she knows is the old him, and the old him might have just done what everyone thinks he would do: use Lincoln as bait to get out.

Little do they know…

"Come on." He puts a hand on Lincoln's shoulder, feeling something like an electric jolt go through him. Looking down, he notices a crackle emanating from the Inhuman's hands. "Aw, don't do that, kid. Try to calm down. It's really her, okay? I know it. This won't be forever. Just wait. They'll run a few more tests, then we'll be out in no time. Well… you will be. You're their shiny hero, remember?"

Lincoln is still breathing too fast, his body is too tense. He is looking from Daisy to Grant with growing panic. Ward closes his eyes, sighing. When he opens them, he tries to signal to Daisy. And Coulson. Before returning his attention to Lincoln. "Look at me kid. You gotta calm down, okay?" He looks at the window, motioning toward the door, then Daisy. "Come on, Coulson, we both know it's me you really want locked up in here. Let the kid out. He's done nothing to deserve this. In fact, he's done everything to have you roll out a goddamn red carpet for him. Let him go and meet his girlfriend, and I promise I'll be at your service."

He watches as Coulson thinks. Clearly, the man could hear him, or at least understood what he said somehow. The muscles in his cheeks twitch, then he gives someone invisible a sign and the next thing he knows, Daisy enters their little cubicle and Mr. Crackles beside him calms down the tiniest bit, slowly backing away as his fellow Inhuman walks toward him, shooting wary glances toward Grant.

"I'm warning you," she briefly says and he smirks, backing off, arms at his side, with an excusing shrug.

"Believe it or not," he whispers, "I've changed. I'll let you two have this moment." With that, he walks back to the bed, heavily slumping down on it, all the while grinning at a slightly wary, slightly flustered looking Phil.

…

"Lincoln?" Her voice is about to break. _She_ is about to break, but she doesn't. She can't. He needs her, her strength, her love, just her.

Her chin begins to wobble, and she hates that she can't keep it under control, but the pain in his eyes and the injuries visible on his body are too much to bear, and she can't help but cry. Hot tears are pooling in her eyes as she walks toward him, while he stumbles slightly back.

Raising both her arms, she tries to smile a teary smile. "It's alright," she whispers, vaguely noticing Ward watch them from the bed. She knows Coulson has him in check, an invisible tac team waiting outside to intervene if need be, but for some reason she believes they won't need it.

"Daisy?" It sounds like a question. As if he isn't quite sure it's really her, and maybe he isn't. She doesn't know what he's been through. The things he's had to endure and see. But if her own experiences are anything to go by, he's damn smart to question whether she is real.

Nodding, she comes closer, noticing that he finally stopped walking away from her. He is standing frozen to the spot, swaying a little, looking more broken than she could have ever imagined.

"What did they do to you?" it escapes her, and she bites her lip when she sees him flinch.

"Nothing I'd care to go through again," he suddenly says, surprising her, a lopsided grin fleetingly lighting up his face.

He's not gone. There is still hope.

She's almost reached him. Arms still up, she moves her head in a half nod. "Can I…" _hug you? Touch you? Kiss you?_ she wants to say, but falls silent, words not wanting to come. But in a bold movement, she eventually just wraps her arms around him, first gently, then, when she feels him tense more before slowly easing up a little, more fiercely, until she can feel his arms come around her, too, holding tight, their embrace turning into something so fierce, so desperate that she feels like she can never let go again.

They were drowning, but now, clinging to each other, they finally emerge out of the waves, taking a few struggling breaths, deep, filling their lungs, and they know nothing is over yet, not the pain, not the desperation, but also not their love. Not their lives.

"I love you," she chokes out, finally, after all these months, after it was already too late, after everything fell apart and got put back together slowly.

"Daisy."

"You came back to me…"

His breath against her face, his nose close to hers, that look in his eyes: there's love mixed in with the terror. There's hope.

"I missed you," he rasps, before her lips find his, smooth skin on cracked. She can taste copper, but she closes her eyes, not wanting to think about it now, not in this moment.

Right now, all that matters is that she is here, with him. Sharing tears, sobs, pain.

And love. They have each other back.


	9. Zap

_Not like anyone was on pins and needles for a continuation of this, but here it is anyways._

 _Catching up to a changed take on season five. Perhaps…_

 _Thanks if you're here and reading._

* * *

...

* * *

...

"It's alright, kid. You go. I'll be fine."

Grant smiles at Lincoln, a soft, cajoling expression, because he knows it's what the kid needs, what they all need.

Coulson has proclaimed Lincoln fit to rejoin the outside world, but the SHIELD director still doesn't trust this new and reformed version of Grant Ward enough to grant him the same freedom. Which, while annoying, is admittedly understandable. If the roles were reversed, Grant wouldn't let himself out of the confinement chamber yet, either.

He's just glad that Lincoln is free to go, because the guy needs it so much. Needs to be with Skye - Daisy, needs to not be locked up anymore. Despite everything, he is simply not as jaded as Ward, and that's where his weakness (no, his strength) lies. He's not as hardened, as used to the utter and complete hopelessness of the world, and staying locked up would have probably broken him eventually.

No, strangely, Ward can honestly say that he's glad the kid can go now.

That is, if he doesn't mess it up for himself now.

Still standing by the door to their shared confinement chamber, Lincoln's hands crackle slightly, while Daisy beckons to him, pleading for him to just let it go. And here he is, Grant Ward, agreeing with her, making her shoot him a confused, wary glance.

"She's right, kid. You need to look out for yourself now. You know me, I'll be fine. Cockroach, remember?"

Lincoln shakes his head. "They can't keep you locked up in here forever. - Coulson," he hollers over at the director, an upset look on his face that the man answers with a grim if somewhat sad, almost remorseful expression. "He's not Hive anymore. He's not even the same man you knew him as. I told you that if it weren't for him, I'd be dead. He's… _changed_ , dammit. Let him out."

Ward rolls his eyes for Skye's benefit, who is looking at him briefly from over Lincoln's shoulder.

"A bit melodramatic," he casually informs her, nodding at the kid. "Can't blame him after what we went through… - Please, Skye." He looks down, chuckles, rubbing his neck, then stares back up at her again, correcting himself. (Will he ever get this right?) "Please just take him with you, Daisy, keep an eye on him. He needs you."

She glares at him and he can tell that she might not like it, but she grudgingly believes he is being sincere with his worry about Lincoln Campbell.

Because he is.

"I promise we will treat him fairly," Coulson says, smiling at Lincoln, then shooting Ward a strange glance, then nodding at him, a gesture Grant returns. If nothing else, Coulson has always kept his word. He is the kind of honest man that Grant had once aspired to be.

Before everything had gone to shit.

It remains to be seen whether he can persuade SHIELD, Coulson, Daisy, Fitz, and Simmons that he is indeed a changed, a better man these days.

"Come on, kid. You can come visit, okay? Actually, you'll have to promise you will. But I don't want to see you here another minute now. Go! This is what you came back for, remember? For… Daisy. Heck, even for SHIELD. So go."

His tone, insistent, finally seems to get through to the younger man, who turns around reluctantly, suddenly giving Ward an unexpected hug, surprising not only him, but also the onlooking others.

Grant gasps softly, but quickly catches himself to reciprocate the embrace, his arms clutching at Lincoln, his heart jumping a little at the human contact, the kindness displayed.

Oh gosh, he really cares for this kid now, doesn't he? He truly feels like a brother, and Grant knows that is _his_ weakness, but it doesn't even matter any more.

Grant Ward has a heart, and there is still room for love in there. Who would have thought?

"Go," he breathes one last time, then pats Lincoln on the back encouragingly before finally letting go, smiling at him. "I promise I won't go anywhere."

And suddenly they both chuckle, before the kid eventually exits the cubicle, Daisy's hand in his now as they both walk away, the door closing after them, leaving Ward behind.

He inhales deeply, cherishing the air in his lungs for a moment before letting it out. Another minute, and he and Coulson are completely alone. The older man is looking through the window at him, scrutinizing him.

Ward grimaces, then grins. "Look out for the kid, Coulson, will you?"

The other's expression turns into a frown, eyes widening slightly. "You really do care about him, don't you?" he realizes, then continues, almost to himself. "I'll be damned. I think I can actually see it now. You _have_ changed…"

Ward grins.

* * *

…

They walk down the long hallway, very slowly, because Lincoln clearly can't walk well yet, even though he has spent two full weeks in quarantine, and Jemma has done her best to attend to his injuries because he wouldn't let any other doctor near him.

Daisy shoots him a cautious glance, a smile that he returns, and she leans in a little more, very softly holding onto his arm.

"Your room is right next to mine," she explains conversationally as they walk, "I mean, if you want you can room in with me, I just wasn't sure… after all this time…" She is faltering, unsure of how best to say it. She is worried about him. Worried about what toll his months of torture and isolation could have taken on him. She is honestly surprised he is still functioning, surprised he can even handle her touching him, surprised he tolerates anyone's close proximity. He's not good with that, though, that much she has learned.

He flips out immediately if there's a stranger coming too close. The other members of the team, other than Daisy, other than Jemma, (and, well, other than Ward…) have to keep a considerable distance, at least a few feet, or he gets agitated, lets his electric current crackle involuntarily.

There's a storm brewing inside of him, barely kept at bay, and Daisy wishes she could be there for him more, could soothe him, hold him, but she isn't sure how much intimacy he can handle so she has seen to it that he has his own room, where he can be alone if he needs to be.

They stop in front of his door right then, and she smiles at him uncertainly, unable to contain the urge to gently stroke the side of his face. He doesn't flinch, doesn't balk, just smiles back at her with a heavy sigh before a sudden sadness seems to wash over his features.

"I'm sure you've continued your life, Daisy, and I… I understand if you've… moved on, but I…"

She frowns. "Moved on? I didn't move on," she whispers, but he is talking over her, as if he doesn't hear her.

"To me, the only thing that kept me sane up there is the thought of you. That you were safe and okay, and that maybe, one day, I'd get to see you again. I know I was never good enough for you or strong enough, or…"

"Lincoln, that's not true—"

"I was never what you needed, and I don't ask anything of you now. I'd just… I love you, still." He shrugs, looking pained. "And I'd really like to be friends."

Friends. She swallows. Part of her knows this for what it is, him giving her an out, and maybe she should take it. He is broken and will need time and care in a way she isn't sure she can give him. She is not a very caring type of person. She isn't soft and gentle, tender. She is a soldier, a fighter.

And she loves him.

So no, she is not going to take that out. Instead, she leans forward, her hand gently resting on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall, the speeding up rhythm of his heart underneath as she looks up into his eyes before her lips graze his, very lightly, then more intimately as she kisses him.

After a minute or two, or maybe even more, she isn't all that sure, they part and she tilts her head, grinning at him sassily. "You're an idiot if you think I'd let you do that, Lincoln Campbell. I love you, and I won't let you go again."

Looking back at her a little sheepishly, a little self-consciously, he seems to contemplate. "I knew you were special when I first met you. But I already was a mess before then, and I'm even more of a mess now."

She chuckles softly. "You're right. You've met me. So you know I am a mess too. I think we complement each other well. Two messes make one… giant mess?" She rolls her eyes, laughing, then nudges him lightly as she finally takes the step forward to open his door. "Wow. Aren't we romantic? Getting right down to business." They both chuckle before she continues, holding out a hand. "Come on, let's get you settled in. And if you need anything, day or night, I'm right next door, okay?"

"You sure about this?"

His look tells her how relieved he is, and how afraid that she might still back out of this. She is not going to, of course. She is too happy he is back. Because, frankly, she didn't even know just how much she missed him, how much she truly loves him, until she saw him again the day he came back from the dead.

"I mean," she says, going for a light tone, for a joke to ease up some of the sudden tension, "your new bromance with Ward is a little weird still, but yes, I'm all in…"

She sees him grimace slightly, sees his eyes shutter and she gently rests her forehead against his. "You know I'm joking, right?"

"You're not." She looks up to see him smile. "But that's okay. I get it. It * _is_ weird."

"It is, isn't it?"

They both grin, then laugh, before eventually walking into the room and shutting the door.

"I'm sorry if that makes things awkward, but I… he really is a friend now, I know that's hard to believe, but up there…"

He looks so pained that she lays a hand on his cheek, shaking her head, stopping him. She doesn't want him to go where he clearly can't go yet. And while his odd relationship with Ward kind of complicates things, she can't blame him for whatever feelings he has for the man now. After all, Ward is pretty dang charismatic, and she, too, still has the tiniest tiniest soft spot for him, even after everything.

"It's okay," she whispers, "I get it."

"Do you? Because I don't even quite get it myself…" He raises an eyebrow, grinning awkwardly, and she chuckles.

"He has that effect on people."

"Yeah, maybe… He has changed, though. He's… honestly been a good guy ever since Hive is gone."

"I'll take your word for it. Honestly, he has a way of getting into people's heads, but I know you're not stupid and I know that people can change so I'll just believe you and hope he deserves your trust."

He smiles in reply, but remains silent. When the quiet gets to her too much, she eventually offers, "I can stay, if you want… I mean…" His hands are slowly coming up her back, her neck, surprising her a little, making her hiss in a breath… "May wanted a sparring session but I could probably give her a rain check…"

"She won't like it."

"No…"

His lips are caressing her neck now, and she stops thinking for a moment, and just does. They both do. Because it's what they need. They need each other more than anything. Touches, kisses, no words, no thoughts, no darkness, no pain. Just one beautiful moment of bliss. Together.

* * *

…

He wakes up in a panic, breathing too fast, unsure of where he is and what he's doing here, before her features come into focus, her soft voice reaches him; her hands, her touch grounding him again.

"It's okay," she whispers, "you're okay. You're okay. No one's gonna hurt you anymore."

He wants to believe her so badly, he really does, but the panic is lingering and it takes him forever to get a grip on it.

"I'm sorry," he breathes eventually, as she holds him, "I'm sorry…"

But she shakes her head, tightens her grip on him and simply repeats, "It's okay. I'm right here," and he knows she understands. Still, the shaking doesn't stop, yet, the pain is still there, too. His arms are burning, and he feels so… awful. Vulnerable, lost, and he hates it so much, so so much.

"Would it help you if we went to see Ward?" she suddenly asks, her tone cautious, but strangely understanding, and he finally looks up a little, scoffing softly, wondering what she might really think and feel now. Pity? That he is a nutcase?

All he sees is compassion, however, and love, and he doesn't even think he deserves it, but he'll take it anyways, because he needs her so much, loves her so much and that's the only thing that makes this bearable.

"Come on, let's go," she cajoles, "I'm sure he'd like to see you." She smiles as he makes a face, running a hand over his hair as he tries to pull himself together. "Plus, I'll probably have to check in with May before she comes barging into my room…." She rolls her eyes, obviously trying to take his mind off things.

Freaking nightmares.

"It's alright," he mutters, "I'm fine… I know how weird this must be for you, I mean, for me too. Grant Ward of all people…" He shrugs apologetically, and is relieved to see a lighter expression on her face again.

"Yeah," she admits, "say what you will about that bastard, but he has a way to get to you."

"I know it's hard for you to believe, and I don't expect you to understand it, either, or start to like him or whatever. I know what he did to you and the others is unforgivable, but… He saved my life, Daisy, I don't think I would have made it back without him. And he had no gain from bringing me back."

"I know…"

…

And she does. She does know it's true, and deep down, there is a part of her that never stopped hoping there could still be redemption for Grant Ward. Maybe that spark was fueled by her experiences in the Framework, she can't be sure, but knowing what she knows now, that Ward was selfless enough to keep Lincoln alive and bring him home, to be there for him when she couldn't, it softens her up toward him a little again.

Just a little.

Who knows, she thinks, maybe even he deserves another chance, and it is not up to her to decide whether he'll get one or not. Because if it was, she would give it to him. She would…

* * *

…

It's past midnight when Fitz finds himself wandering the hallways of the playground, unsure of where to go and what to do. He can't sleep. Can't share his bed with Jemma because she is so pure and he… he came home from the Framework with a monster inside of him and he simply doesn't know how to handle that. How to be himself anymore. How to deal with the fact that he has such potential for evil in him.

So of course his way leads him straight to the confinement chamber that holds the one person who knows all about being evil incarnate, and soon, he stands in front of the big plate glass window and stares inside, where Grant Ward is resting on his bed, arms behind his head, clearly still awake.

Fitz gasps lightly as the man stirs, then rises slightly, shooting him a grin.

"Fitz," he says, his voice raspy and so familiar. It sends a shiver down Leo's spine. "It's good to see you. You probably don't believe me, but it really is."

"Yeah," Fitz makes, rolling his eyes. "I don't believe a word you say. I don't care what you think. Or feel. Or…"

"Yet here you are."

He sighs, pressing his lips together. Ward knows him too well. He is still the big brother Fitz never had and it stirs something inside of him that he wishes was still dead. He has to remind himself of the things Ward did. To Jemma. To Bobbi. To himself. To so many people.

"You are evil, Ward."

The man has the audacity to smile brightly. "I used to be, yes..."

"You used to be?! You're really trying to… to tell us that you changed?! That there's still some good in you, and we should give you a chance?!"

Ward sighs visibly, looking over at Fitz with an almost resigned looking expression. "I'm not trying to tell you anything, Fitz. I understand if you can't see it or can't give me another chance. Hell, after what I did to you…"

"You're damn right!" Fitz is shaking and clenches his hands into fists to keep it under control. How does Ward still have that effect on him? Why did he have to come back.

He is squinting at Leo now, cocking his head a bit to take him in. "You're not here for me, are you? You're here because you want to find out whether you and I are the same."

"What?!"

Grant clicks his tongue. "I heard about the 'Framework' I think it was called? Yeah," he continues when Fritz's breath hitches audibly, "I overheard Jemma and May talking about it a little. Heard about your role…" He winks over at Leo, before his features soften into… oh gosh, understanding? Compassion? From Grant bloody Ward?! "You're not a bad man, Leopold Fitz. You never were and never will be. You are not like me. You are good."

Something shifts in him, he falters. Ward's words ring in his ears and he desperately wants to believe the man is right, that he is not bad.

"But you can't know that, can you? I saw how easy it could have ended differently. Just one little component in my life changed, and I could have gone down the same route as you."

"Fitz…"

He raises himself up, watching Ward, who is now sitting perched on the corner of his bed, one leg up. He still has the same signs of torture on his body as Lincoln. The patch above the ear is gone, but Fitz can see the slight discoloration of where the plastic had cut its way through. He remembers what both men told them about a slug or worm having been used on them, he remembers the findings of alien life form residue Jemma was examining after she had extricated them from each man's ears. Ward's feet, like Lincoln's, are still bandaged, his eyes hollow, tired and like he had been through a lot. Once again, standing here, seeing him, the toll his former friend's then enemy's ordeal has taken on him, Fitz wonders whether Ward's experiences up there in space can suffice as punishment for what he did down here on earth. To them. Is getting extensively tortured for more than half a year enough to make up for past crimes committed? Is saving the life of a man who saved all of humanity enough to make up for the lives he killed?

Is there an answer?

Fitz wants this to be true, Lincoln's truth. He desperately wants to believe that Ward has changed, and is a better man again, because if that is true, then there is hope for him, too, for Leopold Fitz.

Because, oh gosh, he can't live with the knowledge of having all this evil in himself if there isn't hope for him to become good again.

"Fitz?"

He looks up, surprised to see Ward stand right in front of the window now, looking at him from just a few inches away, head tilted slightly, expression… unreadable. Concerned?

"Are you alright?"

He scoffs loudly. Ward didn't just ask him that, did he? But he deflates quickly, shoulders sagging.

"I get it now," he says hoarsely, the admittance painful but necessary. "How easy it is to slip up, to go down the wrong route. And I don't know how you can live with what you did. Are you really trying to be a better person now? After everything you did? Because, frankly, I don't understand how anyone could live with themselves after… something that awful. I certainly can't."

It's out. He said it. He has admitted how he really feels, has admitted that he can't live like this. With this evil inside of him, eating away at him from the inside out. And if he can't do it, why can Ward? Why?

It's not fair… Or maybe it is.

Ward shakes his head, looking at him wearily. "That wasn't you, Fitz. Not really. It was you being stuck in a program. For me, it was different. Things did turn out the way they did because I made those decisions. At some point, you can't blame outer influences anymore, only yourself. And with me that is certainly the case. I made bad decisions and justified them with my own abuse. I have to live with it because I can't take it back and I can't just take the easy way out either. Honestly, I don't understand what changed. I didn't used to care. I really didn't. There was a time when I did, when I cared about my brother, then Jemma, _you_ …"

Fitz scoffs, but doesn't interrupt him as he grins at him sadly.

"But I lost that part of me. I warded myself off, sealed away any and all feelings because I thought they only made me weaker. Then, when Coulson killed me and all should have been over, Hive took over and I was… back, yet not really back. Just all those jumbled thoughts, pain, fear, and so much regret. And then… well, I guess I got what I had coming for me. These alien freaks managed to get me back, truly back, and maybe they are to blame for the fact that I am here now." He shrugs, looking at Fitz head on, unblinkingly. "And that whatever I was before, is gone. I don't care if I have to stay locked up. I probably deserve even less than that, death, more torture, you name it; but I'm not going to pretend that I'm still the person I was before just so you all can feel better about it."

"You're trying to make us look like the bad guys."

"That's not what I said. _You_ seem to think you're a bad guy, but I know you aren't. You're Leo Fitz, you don't have it in you to be truly evil." Ward chuckles softly. "Just… do me a favor and don't make Lincoln pay for having spent time with me. He's a good guy. He really is."

"I know." Fitz swallows. Ward's genuine tone, the sudden concern at the end there, still throws him. He's heard it before. Has seen it. How caring and kind Ward is with Daisy's boyfriend. And the worst, the worst about that is not that it shows him the man did truly change when it shouldn't have been possible, it's not that Maybe this makes Ward a better man than Fitz, deep down. No, the worst is that Fitz is jealous.

He is freaking jealous that Ward cares about Lincoln in a way he never truly cared about _him_.

And that feeling is awful.

"Hey, Fitz."

He whirls around to see Daisy and Lincoln appear, the latter a bit self-conscious looking, but Daisy just her usual self, and he briefly looks from them to Ward, then back, before he makes up his mind and points toward where they have just come from.

"I should probably… I… Jemma said she needs a second pair of eyes for the… uh, yeah. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

…

Fitz leaves so quickly that Daisy frowns. She is worried about him. Still. There is something different about him. Ever since the Framework, he has shut himself off. Away. Jemma is worried, too, she knows as much because her friend talked to her about it on multiple occasions.

Of course they know why he is the way he is. He feels ashamed for what happened in the Framework. For who he was in there. And she wishes she could do something to help him, but she doesn't know what that could be.

Looking up now, her gaze meets Ward's, and for the second time since he's been back, she truly thinks that maybe his being here does mean something good.

She first thought so after seeing him interact with Lincoln, back when Coulson hadn't allowed her to stay in the chamber with them, and hadn't allowed Lincoln to come out just yet.

How appalled and angry with him she had been, even though she knew that he was only being careful, that he had good reason to be. And still…

But seeing Grant be there for Lincoln, with Lincoln, it had made her start to see the old Ward in him again. The man she had once fallen in love with. The man he should have been back then but never actually had been. (Had he?)

With a sigh, she waves over at the man now, who grins back at her.

"Just so you know," she informs him, raising her eyebrows, hoping to give her words more gravitas, and knowing it is stupid. It won't work on Ward. He can still see right through her. "I'm only doing this for Lincoln. You hurt him in any way whatsoever, and you're toast."

"Duly noted and appreciated. I'm glad you're looking out for him."

"Hey," Lincoln says, looking slightly petulant, "I'm right here, you know?"

She focuses her attention back on him, smiling before she kisses his cheek lightly. "I'll leave you guys to it. I'm gonna check whether I can find May, make amends…" She winks as he smirks at her knowingly, both of them sharing this moment, before she turns to leave with one last look at Ward.

"I mean it, Ward."

"I know you do, Skye. Tell May I said hi."

She rolls her eyes, then leaves. For some reason, it almost feels good to have him back, too.

Almost.

* * *

…

She finds them sitting together in the kitchen, Coulson, Jemma, Yo-Yo, Mack, May. They're eating scrambled eggs, courtesy of Mack, and debating - what else could it be - what to do with Ward.

He's their favorite topic of choice lately, and none of them know what to make of his return. She knows that they feel similarly about Lincoln, but despite any tensions between him and the team, he's always been a good guy and they know it. They can accept and appreciate his return.

Ward, however, not so much.

"Hey," she says, sitting down next to Coulson, grinning innocently at May, who is shooting her a pointed look, only a little berating.

"You and I were supposed to spar earlier…"

"I'm sorry, I… um…" She is looking for words but May waves a hand dismissively.

"We all know _why_ you didn't show up," Mack tells her from where he's still standing by the stove, and Daisy notices how awkward he looks, and how Jemma averts her gaze, staring intently at the plate in front of her while Yo-Yo and Coulson both chuckle lightly. She feels heat flush into her cheeks, when Mack drily continues, "Maybe try and keep the lightshow and special effects at bay a little next time, if you don't want everyone knowing what you guys are doing."

She grins sheepishly at him as he hands her a plate.

"Dig in, Tremors. I'm sure you've worked up an appetite. - Where's Sparkplug?"

"Thanks," she mumbles, then looks up, making a face. "He's with Ward."

"It always comes back to him, doesn't it?" Jemma gives her a strange look, then sighs. "Did you see Fitz there? He said he'd—"

"Ya, he was there. Was in a hurry to get back to you, though."

"Oh?" Jemma doesn't look very convinced and Daisy briefly wonders whether anything is going on there, when Yo-Yo interrupts her musings.

"Coulson here is debating letting him out. Can you believe it?"

"Yo-Yo…" Mack shakes his head at her, but she merely shrugs.

"What? Do any of us think that's a good idea? No."

"He has changed."

Daisy is surprised to hear Coulson speak, his voice soft as he does. "I know." He shrugs, then eats a bit of his egg, nodding to Mack. "Good stuff, Mack."

"Coulson," Daisy forces him to focus back on Ward, and he grimaces at her a little.

"I know, I know. But you've all seen it. Whatever these aliens did, or maybe it was Campbell's good influence, but he's not the same anymore, and we can't keep him locked away forever."

"Can't we?" May mumbles in between bites, but no one answers her rhetorical question, though the looks they exchange speak volumes. Ward, free, it's not anything either of them really want. Yet.

Except for Lincoln. She knows he wants his friend out of confinement. His friend… Daisy rolls his eyes to herself. Somehow that still feels so wrong. And that's without even taking into consideration that her boyfriend is now friends with her ex…

"He will have to prove himself to us, of course. He won't be allowed anywhere near Jemma, or Fitz—"

"Or me," May informs him coolly and he raises his eyebrows at her, but nods.

"Or May. He won't be allowed to leave the premises and we'll put a detector on him. But he could be useful in figuring out where they have been held and whether there's any danger coming from that direction still."

"You think these aliens are coming for all of us? For earth?" Daisy asks, the thought having only occurred to her just now. She doesn't know how to bring this up to Lincoln later, but she knows she'll have to. He won't like it. Hell, she doesn't like it.

"I do, yes. Jemma found what seems to have been intended as a form of sender perhaps, implanted under both Lincoln's and Ward's clavicles. She wasn't able to take them out, yet, because…" He stops and looks to Simmons for help in explaining what clearly he hasn't quite understood on an academic level.

"It's like a pacemaker, connected to their blood circulation, their hearts. I was able to deactivate it, but taking it out… it's partly embedded in the bone, and I'd have to put them under and neither of them is quite there yet and willing to do that.

Daisy huffs. "Understandable, after what they went through…"

"I was hoping Ward might lead by example and let me perform the procedure on him first so that Lincoln would see it's okay," Jemma allows with a small voice, and Daisy knows there's something unspoken in that suggestion, too. If it doesn't work out, it'll only be Ward…

"Okay," she says with a sigh, "I'll talk to Lincoln, see—"

But she doesn't get further than that because suddenly, a bright flash zaps through her, through all of them, and they freeze, time freezes, and the next thing she knows is she wakes up somewhere completely different. Alone.

* * *

…

When Fitz doesn't find Simmons in the lab, he knows where to look for her, and it doesn't take him long until he hears noises coming from the kitchen, voices, chatter, and the good smells of some food reach his nostrils. Eggs, and peppers, and tomatoes, and a nice dollop of salsa on top probably, if Mack is at it again.

Then he sees them, and despite everything, all his latest struggles and insecurities and feelings of being lost, he gets this sense of belonging and all is okay again for one wonderful moment.

"Here you all are," he begins, sees Jemma smile over at him, hears the rest of whatever Daisy is saying. "I'll talk to Lincoln, see—"

And then he blinks and opens his eyes to see… an empty kitchen. Plates sitting abandoned on the table. No noises, nothing. Daisy never even got to finish her sentence. Fitz never got to sit down and eat, feel Simmons' gentle touch on his arm.

They're just suddenly, inexplicably gone.

…

Grant chuckles at Lincoln's expression, enjoying this a little too much. Seeing the kid do so much better after just a few hours out of this obnoxious chamber. Freedom and Daisy have done wonders for him. He looks so much more lively, and for the first time in months, Grant sees the old Lincoln before him again. That kid that was with him when the world exploded, before the aliens got to them.

And it feels good.

"Relax," he tells him now. "I'm sure you two will get your static quaking under control soon enough. Practice makes perfect, as they say."

"Geez, Ward. Stop." Lincoln raises a hand as if in surrender, then runs the other over his face. "I don't think Daisy would appreciate you commenting on our—"

"Oh bloody hell, Thank god you're still here!" Someone suddenly blurts at them, and a red faced, panicked looking Fitz storms toward them, grabbing Lincoln's arm so hard the poor kid whirls around, flinching violently under the unwelcome touch.

"Easy there, Fitzy," Grant tells him, standing up behind his window, wary now, and frowning.

"I'm… sorry, so sorry." Fitz looks up at Lincoln, cheeks flushed, and seems to fight the urge to pat the other man in an apologetic gesture. But he's too smart to make the same mistake twice, and Grant knows they're lucky Lincoln is even still in the same room with them.

"What's going on?" Grant eventually asks because Fitz is frozen and Lincoln on hyper alert, and one of them has to be the grown up here so it might as well be him.

"Uh…" Fitz is too flustered to talk. Looking from Lincoln to Ward, then back, he finally pulls himself together, though. "They're gone," he says cryptically, and Grant's frown widens.

"Gone? Who's gone? Where?"

"Everyone. I mean. The team. Jemma. Coulson. Daisy—"

"What?!" Lincoln suddenly grabs Leo, staring at him intensely.

"I don't know what's going on. One moment they were all in the kitchen, eating, and the next… they were all gone. Vanished. As if… as if someone or something—"

"Beamed them away?"

Fitz's gaze meets Ward's and they all fall silent. A coldness creeps into Ward as he looks from Fitz to Lincoln.

What if that was the same things that snatched them up. What if…

… they came back for the rest of them?

They need to do something. Stat. Need to get their people back. And he can't help with that if he is locked up in here.

"Get me out of here, now," he orders and sees Fitz fidget, sees his internal struggle. He understands it, he really does. But now is not the time. "Come on, Fitz. Do you want to get them back or not?"

"Okay," Fitz says, "alright." Then his shaky hands come forward to press some keys on the chamber's interface and just like that, Grant Ward is free again.

He doesn't wait long. No theatrical gestures, no deep inhalation then exhalation. He just walks out, all business, gently pats Lincoln's shoulder, then nods at Fitz, and keeps walking.

"Let's get to work," he tells them. As if he has any idea where to start.

Maybe with the alien ship they used to get back home...


End file.
